AND!  CAPPED' 


^ 


,  _ 

-\ 


/ 

HANDICAPPED 


BY 


MARION    HARLAND 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY 

1881 


PREFACE. 


"  THE  author  who  would  commend  a  story  to  the 
public  by  insisting  upon  the  fact  that  it  is  a  sketch 
from  Nature  and  substantially  true  in  all  its  parts, 
commits  a  grave  blunder.  He  may  be  a  conscientious 
portrait-painter,  but  in  the  above  declaration  he  writes 
himself  down  inartistic  and  devoid  of  taste." 

This  is  the  recent  deliverance  of  a  respected  re- 
viewer. I  am  not  so  rash  as  to  quote  the  decree  in 
order  that  I  may  appeal  from  it.  I  hope,  rather,  to 
keep  the  simple  tales  collected  in  this  volume  upon  a 
safe  level  below  his  criticism  by  cataloguing  them, 
"CARTOONS  FROM  LIFE." 

I  claim  for  them  little  beyond  fidelity  to  Nature 
and  that  they  were  penned  in  deep  sympathy  with 
the  unconscious,  and  too  often  (by  mankind)  uncon- 
sidered  heroism  that  makes  lowly  lives  sublime  in  the 
sight  of  GOD  and  His  angels. 

I  esteem  it  an  honor,  not  to  be  lightly  held,  that  I 
have  been  permitted  to  recognize  upon  so  many  of 
earth's  dusty  highways  the  trail  of  an  angel's  robe ; 
to  discern  under  homeliest  disguises,  here,  a  warrior, 
and  there,  a  saint. 

MARION  HARLAND. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Two i 

THE  HEART  OF  JOHN  STEWART 77 

WALL-FLOWERS 101 

ABIGAIL'S  WAITING 177 

How  "  MAD  MARCY"  WAS  TAMED 203 

Lois  GRANT  AND  HER  REWARD 251 

ONE  OLD  MAID 319 

NURSE  BROWN'S  STORY 345 


TWO. 


PART  I. 

THE  Rev.  George  Sherman  stood  by  the  open  doors 
of  his  book-case,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  volume 
he  had  not  unclosed  since  his  sophomore  year.  When 
he  found  the  passage  he  sought,  he  read  it  aloud,  al- 
though he  was  alone  : — 

"  Finding,  at  last,  however,  that  although  I  had 
been  all  this  time  a  very  porcupine  or  hedgehog,  brist- 
ling all  over  with  determination,  I  had  effected  noth- 
ing, it  began  to  occur  to  me  that  perhaps  Dora's  mind 
was  already  '  formed.'  " 

"flavid  Copperfield!"  soliloquized  the  reader,  re- 
storing the  book  to  its  place  upon  the  shelf,  "  I  will 
profit  by  your  experience,  and  save  time,  patience, 
and  labor  thereby.  You  and  I  are  not  the  only  men 
who  have  been  dtsillusionnt  by  a  few  months  of  mar- 
ried life.  Ah,  well !  One  cannot  have  all  he  wants 
in  this  world.  I  may  as  well  recognize  this  truth  now 
as  after  years  of  ineffectual  striving  and  failures.  The 
more  moderate  my  desires,  the  greater  the  likelihood 
of  my  compassing  them." 

He  looked  like  one  who  would  not  easily  relinquish 
his  hold  upon  a  coveted  good ;  one  whom  danger  and 
I 


2  Two. 

difficulty  would  not  readily  daunt,  as  he  stood  at  the 
window  of  the  cottage  parsonage,  whistling  the  air  of 
the  celebrated  "  prayer  "  in  "  Masaniello,"  softly  and 
with  unconscious  expression,  his  thoughts  busy  with' 
subjects  totally  diverse  to  the  great  composer  and  his 
music.  His  hands  were  clasped  behind  him,  showing 
Ko  advantage  his  breadth  of  shoulder  and  depth  of 
chest.  His  frame  was  muscular,  his  head  massive,  his 
features  too  marked  to  be  regularly  handsome.  The 
heavily-moulded  chin  and  full  lips«vould  have  been  a 
decided  blemish  to  his  physiognomy,  had  not  the  im- 
pression of  animal  strength  and  appetite  these  con- 
veyed been  neutralized  by  the  fine,  clear  chiselling  of 
the  nostrils  and  forehead,  the  steady  light  of  the  eyes. 
Already  people  began  to  prophesy  that  he  would 
"make  his  mark  upon  the  age,"  obscure  as  was  his 
present  station — a  "  settlement  "  in  a  country  neigh- 
borhood, with  no  railroad  within  fifteen  miles,  over  a 
church  that  was  barely  self-supporting,  and  which  did 
not  include  in  its  communion  a  single  person  of  liberal 
education  or  ample  means.  He  tilled  this  field,  un- 
promising though  he  must  have  felt  it  to  be,  diligently 
and  with  surprising  cheerfulness.  The  unlettered 
farmer,  lifting  his  head  from  the  furrow  over  which  he 
stooped  with  just  such  dull,  patient  eyes  as  his  oxen 
bent  on  the  same,  when  startled  by  the  ringing  shout  of 
greeting  from  the  roadside  or  adjoining  meadow,  was 
glad  to  see  his  visitor  for  his  own  sake,  even  more  than 
because  he  was  "the  domine."  Mr.  Sherman  did  not 
own  a  horse,  so  paid  all  his  pastoral  calls  on  foot ;  and 
when  his  object  was  the  laborer  aforesaid,  he  would 
vault  the  intervening  fence  or  hedge,  and  stride  over 


Two.  3 

the  uneven  ground,  swinging  his  oaken  stick  and  have 
his  friendly  say  out  as  he  walked  beside  his  parish- 
ioner. 

"  I  won't  stay  unless  you  go  on  with  your  work,"  he 
would  protest  with  good-natured  obstinacy.  "  My 
dear  fellow,  don't  I  know  how  much  your  time  is  worth 
too  well  to  have  you  give  me  so  much  as  ten  minutes 
of  it?" 

Then  he  would  tramp  on,  following  the  ploughman 
and  his  yoked  co-workers,  discoursing  in  such  genial, 
hearty  fashion  thatlpthe  farmer  forgot  the  heat  of  the 
sun  and  the  hard-baked  ground.  Nothing  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  student  of  mankind  and  natural  laws. 
He  prodded  in  the  fallow  ground  of  Hodge's  intellect 
with  his  incisive  questions  and  suggestions,  as  he  up- 
rooted wild  carrots  and  May-weed,  and  brought  to  the 
surface  botanical  and  mineralogical  "  studies  "  with 
the  ferrule  of  his  staff.  He  watched  the  throes  with 
which  the  earth  yielded  virgin  mould,  unspent  gases 
and  salts  to  the  subsoil  plough  ;  the  seemingly  contra- 
dictory yet  effectual  operation  of  the  sharp  harrow 
upon  the  naked  seed ;  the  springing,  budding,  and 
fruiting  of  the  grain ;  the  harvesting,  the  threshing, 
the  grinding — the  ever-renewed,  never-ending  labors 
of  husbandry  with  interest  the  most  suspicious  critic 
could  not  but  see  was  genuine.  His  parishioners  were 
flattered  by  his  "  sociable  ways "  and  lively  appreci- 
ation of  their  cares  and  aims — the  more  for  the  schol- 
arly reputation  he  had  achieved  in  college  and  semi- 
nary, and  of  which  they  still  heard  occasionally  through 
other  clergymen  and  the  few  persons  of  culture  and 
refinement  who  visited  the  retired  township. 


4  Two. 

"  He  is  a  plaguy  smart  man,"  Farmer  Hodge  would 
inform  such,  in  the  nasal  drawl  peculiar  to  the  district, 
"but  not  a  mite  proud.  He's  sot  down  in  that  .very 
cheer  you're  in  now,  by  the  hour  on  a  winter  night,  or 
under  the  tree  with  us  when  we  were  taking  a  noon 
spell  in  haying  or  harvesting,  and  talked  to  me  about 
old  times  as  my  father  and  grandfather  has  told  me  of 
—fur  back  as  the  Reverlootionerry  War.  Ther'  ain't 
a  story  about  a  mountain  or  a  tree  in  these  parts  he 
ha'n't  learned  by  heart.  As  fur  farmin',  you  can't  tire 
him  out  telling  about  manures,  and  seeds,  and  crops, 
and  the  good  and  bad  times  of  the  moon.  And  as  for 
bugs,  and  worms,  and  other  animiles — lor'  bless  you ! 
you  can't  stump  him  there.  He's  a  wonderful  fellow, 
is  Domine  Sherman.  And  for  all  he  is  so  learned,  his 
sermons  are  so  plain  a  child  could  understand  'em — 
what  I  call  sort  of  large  print  as  don't  try  one's 
eyes ! " 

George  Sherman  was  studying  his  profession,  reap- 
ing while  he  sowed  beside  all  waters.  Books  and  lit- 
tle else  had  been  his  helps  for  ten  years.  He  was 
learning  now  from  those  most  marvellous  of  volumes 
— too  often  hopelessly  hieroglyphical  to  those  of  his 
calling — the  human  heart  and  the  open  page  of  Nature ; 
storing  up  fact,  illustration,  and  analogy  that  should 
be  more  to  him  than  gold  or  precious  stones  in  days 
to  come. 

While  in  college,  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the 
pretty  face  and  engaging  demeanor  of  Annie  Deane, 
sister-in-law  to  one  of  the  professors,  and,  a  year  after 
his  settlement  in  Wilkeston,  had  married  her.  She 
had  been  mistress  of  the  parsonage  seven  months  at 


Two.  5 

the  date  of  this  chapter,  and  even  in  the  estimation 
of  the  farmers'  wives  who  had  looked  dubious  at  sight 
of  her  curling  hair  and  fashionable  trousseau,  bade  fair 
to  become  an  excellent  housekeeper.  She  had  need  to 
be  a  wise  manager  for  her  husband's  salary  was  small 
and  his  ideas  large.  A  dollar  to  him  was  a  coin  or  a 
bit  of  paper  that  should  without  useless  delay  be  ex- 
changed for  happiness  in  some  shape — either  increase 
his  own  comfort  or  that  of  some  one  who  needed  as- 
sistance more  than  he  did.  While  he  had  money  he 
was  on  the  look-out  for  opportunities  to  spend  it. 
When  it  had  gone  he  felt  a  sensible  relief — a  want  of 
responsibility  that  left  him  free  to  study,  to  plan,  and 
to  dream.  He  preached  his  best  sermons  when  his 
pockets  were  empty  he  used  to  say  laughingly — "  per- 
haps because  he  carried  less  weight  than  when  his 
purse  was  plethoric."  Annie  was  an  orphan  and  so 
nearly  portionless  that  her  brothers  and  sisters  eked 
out  the  furnishment  of  her  house  by  gifts  of  glate, 
table  and  bed-linen.  Her  brother-in-law's  wedding 
present  to  her  was  a  check  for  a  hundred  dollars, 
which,  like  a  provident  woman,  she  deposited  at  once 
in  the  savings'  bank.  It  was  drawn  out  at  her  first 
visit  to  her  old  home,  three  months  after  her  mar- 
riage, but  stealthily,  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
donor,  her  sister,  or  even  George. 

"  My  wedding-fees  all  go  for  bread-and-butter,"  a 
clergyman's  wife  once  complained  to  me  confidentially. 
"  I  would  not  mind  spending  them  for  articles  of  use 
to  my  family  which  would  add  much  to  our  comfort, 
while  they  are  not  exactly  indispensable.  But  it  is 
trying  to  hear  them  spoken  of  as  my  '  perquisites,' 


6  Two. 

when  I  know  they  will  meet  the  next  butcher's  or 
grocer's  bill  that  comes  in  when  the  exchequer  is  nearly 
exhausted.  The  worst  of  it  is,  I  have  not  even  my 
husband's  sympathy  in  the  sacrifice.  He  pleases  him- 
self by  imagining,  I  believe — poor,  dear  fellow !  that 
I  invest  all  these  windfalls  in  candy,  or  laces,  or  some 
other  commodity  in  which  women  take  delight,  and  I 
.dare  not  let  him  guess  what  really  becomes  of  them. 
He  so  enjoys  giving  them  to  me  that  I  indulge  the 
harmless  fiction  of  my  private  purse." 

It  Jiurt  Annie  Sherman,  who  was  yet  no  miser,  to 
pay  out  the  whole  of  her  precious  hoard  for  coal,  po- 
tatoes and  other  homely  necessaries  of  existence,  but 
she  had  no  option.  These  things  must  be  had  and 
George  was  penniless.  He  mentioned  this  circum- 
stance incidentally  to  her  the  evening  they  reached 
her  sister's. 

"  Dear  George  !  "  she  cried,  aghast.  "  Why,  then, 
did  YOU  insist  upon  my  coming  here  ?  How  are  we  to 
get  back?" 

He  laughed.  "  '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof,'  my  love !  I  have  faith  to  believe  that  the 
money  will  come  when  the  pinching  need  arrives.  I 
have  always  been  helped  along  in  some  way  without 
borrowing  or  otherwise  sacrificing  my  independence. 
We  can  hire  a  barrel-organ  and  play  ourselves  across 
the  country,  if  nothing  else  turns  up.  You  can  ride 
on  the  top.  People  would  give  you  pennies  and  nuts 
sooner  than  to  a  monkey." 

He  did  not  inquire  how  the  means  were  procured 
for  their  return  journey,  nor  whence  came  the  sums 
that  met  their  household  expenses  until  that  quarter's 


Two.  7 

salary  was  due.  The  probability,  which  amounted  to 
a  certainty  in  his  wife's  mind,  was  that  he  had  forgot- 
ten the  whole  matter  of  his  impecuniosity.  He  was 
"absent-minded  "  with  respect  to  the  daily  needs  and 
practicalities  of  home-life,  she  had  discovered. 

"  My  wife  is  the  princess  of  financiers,"  he  declared 
one  day  to  a  brother  clergyman  in  her  presence.  "  I 
don't  carry  a  pocket-book  at  all  now-a-days.  She  is 
the  fairy,  the  tap  of  whose  wand  brings  dinner  and 
breakfast-tables  ready-spread  through  the  floor.  I 
obey  literally  the  injunction  to  take  no  thought  what 
I  shall  eat,  drink,  or  wear." 

She  was  a  generous  little  soul,  and  loved  him  too 
dearly  to  parade  the  self-denials  she  practised  for  his 
benefit ;  but  the  "  bread-and-butter  "  purchased  by  her 
wedding-gift  had  an  ill  flavor  for  her,  and  every  dollar 
that  thus  passed  from  her  hands  preached  its  warning 
sermon  to  heart  and  conscience.  She  wished  minis- 
ters were  better  paid  and  that  they  understood  the 
value  of  money  as  well  as  they  did  the  doctrines 
of  election  and  free  agency;  had  as  clear  views  of 
prices  current  and  the  quantity  of  groceries,  etc., 
requisite  to  feed  their  families  as  they  had  of  Sheol 
and  Hades  and  the  like  mysteries.  But  since  this 
might  not  be  for  the  wishing,  nor  for  any  argu- 
ments or  persuasions  she  could  offer,  she  must  study 
carefulness  in  the  minutest  detail  of  her  small  house- 
keeping. There  were  no  more  savings'  bank  deposits 
to  call  upon  in  future  straits.  She  screwed  her  courage 
up  on  the  next  quarter-day  to  suggest  a  plan  she  had 
revolved  in  her  mind  constantly  for  a  month  past. 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  stated  allowance  for 


8  Two. 

family  expenses,  George,"  she  said,  entering  the  study 
as  soon  as  the  treasurer  who,  she  knew,  had  come  to 
pay  "  the  domine's  "  salary,  had  departed.  "  It  is  not 
easy  to  make  our  income  meet  even  our  '  must  haves,' 
let  me  be  as  prudent  as  I  will.  But  I  can  manage  bet- 
ter if  I  go  entirely  upon  the  cash  principle.  When  the 
money  is  not  there  I  must  curtail  my  expenditures." 

She  said  it  with  a  nervous  little  laugh,  and  was  not 
encouraged  to  urge  her  plea  when  George,  who  was 
walking  up  and  down  the  floor  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  stopped  and  stared  silently  at  her.  He  was 
never  cross  with  her,  but  his  look  showed  plainly  that 
the  interruption  of  his  train  of  thought  was  unwel- 
come. She  faltered  out  the  explanation  his  eye  de- 
manded. 

"An  allowance,  dear!  If  you  wouldn't  mind  setting 
aside  a  certain  proportion  of  yvour  salary  for  provisions 
and  would  let  me  pay  it  out  as  I  have  need" — 

"  Oh ! "  he  uttered,  and,  still  abstractedly,  handed 
her  a  roll  of  bank-bills. 

She  discovered  when  she  counted  them  over  in  her 
own  room  that  he  had  given  her  the  entire  quarter's 
salary. 

"  Just  like  him !  He  is  as  liberal  as  he  is  absent- 
minded  ! "  murmured  the  wife,  tears  moistening  her 
blue  eyes.  "After  all,  how  should  he  or  any  other 
student  know  anything  about  housewifery  ?  His 
thoughts  are  engrossed  by  higher  themes.  Every- 
thing relating  to  these  belittling  cares  is  irksome  to 
him.  They  should  be  my  province.  Shall  I  shirk  my 
share  of  the  burden  when  he  has  his  career  and  his 
reputation  to  make — and  " — reverently — "  the  Mas- 


Two.  9 

ter's  work  to  do  ?  Not  while  I  have  strength  to  stand 
between  him  and  all  that  could  divert  his  mind  from 
his  noble  mission !  " 

To  keep  her  resolution  she  labored  faithfully  ;  con- 
trived and  pondered  and  trimmed  lopping  off  this 
and  that  "  may  want,"  and  examining  narrowly  into 
the  credentials  of  "  must  haves,"  until  there  were 
tight  plaits  between  her  eyebrows  which  did  not 
always  relax  entirely  when  others  were  by  to  note 
and  conjecture  concerning  them.  To  spare  him 
anxiety  she  wrought  ceaselessly  with  hands  and  wits 
from  morning  until  midnight.  "  Help  "  was  scarce  in 
that  region,  and  when  procurable,  usually  very  indif- 
ferent, and  Mrs.  Sherman's  maid-of-all-work  "  bettered 
herself "  about  four  months  after  she  began  house- 
keeping, by  going  to  an  easier  place  at  higher  wages. 
Her  late  mistress  installed  no  one  in  her  place. 

"  There  are  only  two  of  us,"  she  represented  to  her 
neighbors  who  "  did  their  own  work."  "  George  lets 
me  have  my  own  way  in  the  house,  and  since  I  prefer 
an  active  life  and  am  fond  of  cooking,  I  shall  hire 
somebody  to  do  our  washing  and  ironing.  The  rest  I 
can  manage  without  trouble." 

"  The  rest "  meant  milking,  churning,  scrubbing, 
and  general  cleaning,  in  addition  to  the  kitchen  work. 
At  first  the  washerwoman  came  two  days  in  the  week 
at  fifty  cents  a  day ;  then,  feeling  the  call  for  four 
dollars  a  month  a  serious  drain  upon  her  slender 
means,  Annie  employed  her  only  on  Mondays  and 
did  the  ironing  herself,  rising  as  early  as  four  or  five 
o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning  that  she  might  get  what 
the  matrons  thereabouts  called  "  the  heft  of  the  work  " 


10 


Two. 


out  of  the  way  before  George  came  down  to  prayers. 
Fond  as  she  was  of  her  husband  she  was  almost  glad 
on  washing,  ironing,  or  baking  days  when  he  took 
dinner  or  supper  away  from  home.  She  prepared  no 
regular  meal  on  these  occasions ;  only  appeased  her 
faint  stomach  with  a  sandwich — as  often  as  not  omit- 
ting the  meat  that  George's  supper  or  breakfast  might 
be  the  more  savory — and  a  glass  of  milk.  The  Chi- 
nese herb  was  too  dear  for  her  to  become  a  tea-tippler 
after  the  fashion  of  so  many  overworked  women. 
This  slight  refreshment  she  generally  ate  standing, 
then  pushed  on  with  her  load.  It  went  hard  with  her, 
this  stress  of  unaccustomed  toil.  A  busy  bee  she 
had  been  always,  but  the  employments  of  her  girlhood 
were  lighter  and  more  elegant.  There  was  no  one  to 
interpose  remonstrance  or  aid.  She  did  no  more  than 
other  wives  and  mothers  about  her  were  compelled  to 
perform,  said  lookers-on  of  her  own  sex,  forgetting  the 
vast  difference  between  their  early  training  and  hers. 
These  were  kind-hearted  in  their  way,  ready  with  use- 
ful advice  when  she  was  at  a  loss,  and  generous 
according  to  the  pattern  of  giving  known  to  the  com- 
munity. Many  a  pumpkin-pie  and  rice-pudding,  a 
baking  of  rusk  or  biscuit — in  "  killing-time,"  sausage, 
spare-rib  and  chine — many  a  pat  of  butter,  roll  of 
pot-cheese  and  saucer  of  honey  came  to  the  parson- 
age kitchen  from  those  of  "the  people  "  who  honored 
and  loved  their  domine  and  had  a  sincere  liking  for 
his  nice  wife.  Homely  compliments  were  often 
brought  to  her  from  this  and  that  notable  house- 
keeper— praise  that  gratified  her  because  it  showed 
that  she  was  a  helpmeet,  not  a  hindrance,  to  him  who 


Two.  1 1 

made  her  world.  Nobody  said  to  her,  "You  are 
overtaxing  your  strength,  enfeebling  your  nervous 
forces — perhaps  shortening  your  life.  Moreover — and 
to  this  you  should  give  diligent  heed — you  are  culti- 
vating the  affections  at  the  expense  of  the  mind ; 
guarding  your  idol  from  present  inconvenience,  it  is 
true,  but  surely,  if  gradually,  dividing  his  sphere  from 
yours — making  of  your  lives  two,  not  one." 

She  had  never  been  brilliant  or  profound.  She  was 
sprightly  and  intelligent,  with  a  retentive  memory  and 
a  commendable  stock  of  facts  and  precepts  gathered 
from  school  books  and  the  "  course  of  reading  "  which 
every  theological  student  or  graduate  feels  himself 
called  upon  to  prescribe  for  his  admiring  betrothed. 
To  please  George  and  to  render  herself  more  fit  to  be 
the  companion  of  one  so  rarely  gifted,  she  had  "kept 
up  "  her  French  and  dabbled  in  Latin  under  the  tuition 
of  her  brother-in-law.  She  had  also  penned  weekly 
essays  upon  given  subjects,  or  abstracts  of  her  latest 
readings,  which  were  dutifully  forwarded  to  her  lover. 
He  had  thought  them  very  charming,  read  in  the  light 
of  those  days — chiefly,  it  must  be  owned,  because 
they  were  written  at  his  request.  Her  chirography 
was  graceful — her  sentences  grammatical.  As  to 
originality  or  strength  he  never  expected  or  looked 
for  signs  of  these  essentials  to  a  really  good  essay. 
He  wanted  a  wife,  not  a  pedant.  He  was  by  no 
means  insensible  as  we  have  seen  to  the  reform  she 
had  wrought  in  his  outward  estate.  A  man  with  his 
mouth  and  chin  must  of  necessity  like  to  be  well-fed 
and  well-kept.  He  had  a  home — orderly,  comfortable, 
tasteful.  His  daily  fare  was  cooked  to  a  charm  and 


12  Two. 

always  daintily  served  ;  his  buttons  and  strings  sewed 
on  tightly ;  his  clothes  laid  ready  to  his  hand,  instead 
of  being  huddled  in  wild  confusion  in  all  sorts  of  un- 
likely places  ;  and  his  study  hours  were  religiously 
respected.  All  this  he  perceived  and  was  grateful  to 
her  to  whom  he  owed  these  advantages.  He  was 
affectionate  in  disposition,  and  if  his  married  life  was 
not  the  scene  of  unmingled  rapture  he  had  pictured  it 
to  himself  in  his  boyish  visions  when  he  quoted  Moore 
by  the  page  and  Byron  by  the  canto,  he  was  honestly 
attached  to  his  blue-eyed  "  angel  in  the  house  " — this 
was  his  favorite  title  for  her — enjoyed  the  petting  and 
adoration  he  received  from  her  and  was  benign  and 
loving  in  return. 

Nor  was  he  wholly  neglectful  of  her  intellectual  cul- 
ture while  devoting  so  much  time  and  thought  to  his 
own.  Almost  immediately  after  their  establishment 
in  their  cottage,  he  had  begun  a  system  of  fireside 
readings  which  were  maintained  with  tolerable  regu- 
larity. Annie  made  a  pleasant  picture  to  his  artistic 
eye,  as  she  sat  near  him,  her  fair  head  bent  over  her 
needle,  while  he  read  aloud  in  some  instructive  book 
selected  by  himself — always  instructive,  even  when  it 
was  Racine  or  Virgil.  He  would  polish  up  her  French 
and  Latin  at  stated  intervals  in  this  way,  and  intro- 
duced in  their  turn  to  her  notice  and  understanding 
treatises  upon  natural  and  mental  philosophy,  rhetoric 
and  history.  He  never  catechized  her,  for  he  was  too 
true  a  gentleman  to  treat  her  as  he  would  a  thought- 
less, idle  child,  and  he  believed  implicitly  in  her  atten- 
tive mien  and  the  apparent  pleasure  with  which  she 
listened.  She  always  thanked  him  warmly  at  the 


Two.  1 3 

close  of  the  sitting  for  "  the  treat  he  had  given 
her." 

"  You  are  so  good,  darling,"  she  would  subjoin,  "  to 
bestow  so  much  time  and  pains  upon  me!  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  enjoy  these  dear  home  evenings.  I 
look  forward  to  each  all  day  long." 

She  did  not  add  that  it  so  rested  and  charmed  her 
to  be  with  him  in  the  seclusion  of  their  own  dwelling 
that  she  would  not  have  been  discontented  had  he 
slept  away  the  hours  in  his  easy-chair,  so  long  as  he 
was  in  her  sight ;  that  his  voice  was  such  perfect  music 
in  her  ear  she  would  have  listened  enchanted  had  he 
discoursed  in  Greek  or  Hebrew.  How  was  he  to  sus- 
pect that  his  French  and  Latin  authors  were  quite  as 
obscure  to  her  understanding  as  Homer  or  Isaiah  in 
the  originals  would  have  been  ?  nay,  more,  that  his 
scientific  and  art-treatises  were  but  one  degree  more 
intelligible  ?  She  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  follow- 
ing out  her  own  reflections  and  fancies,  while  he  im- 
agined that  he  was  improving  her  mind  by  the  strong 
meat  he  digested  with  ease  and  delight.  While  his 
accents  caressed  her  hearing  and  calmed  her  whole 
being,  she  had  hopeful  meditations  upon  to-morrow's 
dinner  and  next  week's  wash  and  Friday's  mending ; 
how  she  could  alter  the  flounces  upon  her  last  sum- 
mer's grenadine  and  make  it  long  enough  for  this 
year's  fashion,  and  there  would  be  one  thin  dress  for 
church  and  company ;  how  she  could  make  new 
bosoms  and  wristbands  for  the  most  worn  of  George's 
shirts  out  of  a  piece  of  fine  linen  left  over  from  her 
wedding  clothes ;  how,  if  he  would  only  take  tea  out 
two  evenings  this  week  she  could  make  the  butter 


14  Two. 

"last  "  until  Saturday's  churning;  how  glad  she  would 
be  when  the  cow  should  "  come  in  "  in  June  and  they 
have  an  abundance  of  milk.  With  plenty  of  milk  and 
eggs  one  could  get  up  so  many  delicious  and  inexpen- 
sive dishes!  Paltry,  ignoble  dreams  and  plans  they 
were,  all  of  them,  but  her  life  was  made  up  of^  such 
trifles.  They  were  matters  of  moment — almost  of  life 
and  death  to  her.  They  meant  bodily  comfort  and 
strength  to  her  husband  and  herself,  and  were  inter- 
fused with  such  wifely  piety,  such  purity  and  single- 
ness of  desire  for  his  welfare,  his  happiness,  that  the 
recording  angel  could  not  write  them  down  as  mean 
or  trivial. 

Moreover,  she  was  too  weary  to  bend  her  mind  to 
anything  else.  Her  back  ached,  her  shoulders  were  stiff, 
and  her  fingers  were  growing  rough  and  awkward  at 
the  fine  sewing  in  which  she  used  to  be  an  adept. 
She  never  complained  of  these  discomforts.  That  was 
not  the  way  to  help  George  and  these  three  words 
were  her  talisman  in  seasons  of  perplexity  and  toil. 
He  had  to  work  hard,  she  was  continually  reminding 
herself  when  her  feet  grew  heavy  and  her  head  un- 
steady, and  could  she  be  recreant  with  such  an  exam- 
ple before  her?  She  liked  to  have  him  read  to  her  in 
the  evenings,  for  she  was  too  tired  to  talk  much,  and 
since  the  family  mending  and  making  over  must  he 
done,  she  could  hardly  have  kept  awake  but  for  his 
presence  and  the  full,  heartening  tones  that  cheered 
her  as  the  Arab's  chant  enlivens  his  drooping  beast  of 
burden. 

It  was  on  a  warm  Tuesday  afternoon  in  early  June 
that  George,  who  had  left  home  soon  after  dinner,  ex- 


Two.  15 

pecting  to  sup  at  Farmer  Lawson's,  five  miles  away, 
walked  into  the  parsonage  yard,  accompanied  by  a 
stranger.  The  Venetian  blinds  that  did  duty  as  a 
front  door  in  summer  were  closed,  and  they  paused 
upon  the  porch  to  breathe  the  delicious  air  and  look 
down  the  valley.  There  was  a  smell  of  clover  and 
new-mown  hay  in  the  breeze  that  was  rising  as  the 
sun  sank  toward  the  mountainous  horizon;  honey- 
suckle and  sweetbriar  wreathed  the  rustic  pillars  of  the 
piazza  and  hid  the  rude  trellis  that  supported  their 
stems. 

"  A  wren's  nest  of  a  place,  you  see — but  it  is  home  J  " 
said  George's  rich  voice,  with  the  unmistakable  ca- 
dence of  glad  gratitude  vibrating  in  every  word. 

Then  he  raised  the  door-latch  and  invited  his  friend 
into  the  hall.  An  ironing-table  stood  midway  between 
the  front  and  rear  entrances,  and  a  clothes-basket 
heaped  with  "  done  up  "  articles,  barred  the  way  to 
the  parlor.  An  undergarment,  half-ironed,  was  spread 
upon  the  table  and  the  smoothing-iron  stood  on  its 
trivet  close  by. 

"  What  under  the  sun  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  ejacu- 
lated George,  in  laughing  wonderment.  He  pulled 
the  basket  aside,  shooting  a  pile  of  shirts  that  lay  on 
the  top  pell-mell  upon  the  oil-cloth  and  kicked  one 
out  of  his  path.  "  Walk  in,  Armstrong  !  I  am  afraid 
my  wife  is  not  in.  She  did  not  expect  me  home  to 
tea.  But  I'll  hunt  her  up.  Excuse  me  for  a  mo- 
ment ! " 

In  the  kitchen  he  found  Annie,  actually  pallid  with 
distress. 

"  Oh,  dearest !  "  she  began,  "  I  am  so  sorry  !     It  is 


1 6  Two. 

awfully  hot  in  here,  and  I  have  had  a  raging  headache 
all  day  and  the  hall  was  cooler  " — 

"  Were  jjw*  ironing?  "  seeing  no  one  else  present. 
"  I  thought  you  hired  a  woman  to  do  that  sort  of 
work." 

"  I  did,  but  she  did  not  understand  getting  up 
starched  clothes,  and  I  really  like  it.  I  do,  indeed." 

George  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Cliacun  &  son  gotit.  Mine  wouldn't  be  for  clear- 
starching in  summer.  It  is  as  hot  in  here  as  Tophet." 
He  could  hardly  breathe,  coming  in,  as  he  did,  from 
the  scented  freshness  of  the  outer  world  and  made 
quick  work  of  his  errand.  "  I've  brought  home  my 
old  friend  and  classmate,  Armstrong.  You  remember 
him?  I  met  him  in  the  stage,  just  this  side  of  Law- 
son's.  He  will  spend  to-night  with  us.  He  has  been 
travelling  all  day,  and  I  suppose  would  like  a  substan- 
tial supper.  Or,"  with  a  dawning  sense  of  the  un- 
promising situation,  "  perhaps  I  had  better  take  him 
to  Joynes'?  "  a  small  tavern  half  a  mile  distant. 

"George!  as  if  I  would  let  you  think  of  such  a 
thing!"  gasped  Annie,  who  had  sunk  into  the  nearest 
chair  at  the  announcement  of  a  visitor  for  the  night. 
"  I  can't  promise  you  a  very  nice  supper,  but  I  will  do 
my  best.  Please  shut  the  parlor-door  that  I  may  get 
my  ironing-board  and  clothes-basket  out  of  the  way. 
Then  I'll  run  up-stairs  and  put  the  spare  bedroom  in 
order.  It  is  a  pity  I  beat  up  the  bed  yesterday  and 
left  it  unmade  to  air.  As  soon  as  it  is  ready  and  I 
have  carried  up  fresh  water,  I  will  tap  at  the  door  of 
the  parlor  to  let  you  know." 

It  did  not  occur  to  the  Rev.  George,  as  he  returned 


Two.  17 

to  his  classmate,  and  shut  the  door  after  him,  accord- 
ing to  directions,  that  it  would  be  a  manly,  no  less 
than  a  benevolent  deed  for  him  to  relieve  his  wife  of 
some  of  the  labors  thus  suddenly  thrown  upon  her ; 
that  his  strong  arms  could  hardly  be  more  mercifully 
employed  than  in  tossing  over  the  mattresses  in  the 
spare  chamber  ;  in  drawing  water  for  the  ewer  there, 
and  then  to  replenish  the  tea-kettle ;  in  lifting  the 
ironing-table  back  to  its  place  in  the  kitchen  and  car- 
rying the  loaded  basket  up-stairs  ;  and  that  his  self- 
respect  would  suffer  no  damage  if  he  further  burdened 
her  soul  with  thankfulness  by  offering  to  set  the  tea- 
equipage  in  order  in  the  dining-room,  while  Mr.  Arm- 
strong was  busy  with  his  toilet.  If  the  suggestion 
had  been  made  by  another,  he  would  have  done  all 
this  and  more  with  hearty  good-will ;  for  he  really 
pitied  the  wearied  and  warm  worker  in  the  stifling 
kitchen  as  he  washed  off  the  dust  of  his  walk  in  spark- 
ling cold  water  over  the  washstand  in  his  breezy 
chamber  above  stairs  ;  brushed  his  boots,  coat,  and 
hair ;  indulged  himself  in  a  spotless  shirt,  wondering, 
as  he  put  it  on,  at  Annie's  queer  taste  about  clear- 
starching, and  observing  how  beautifully  pure  and 
glossy  were  bosom  and  cuffs.  Then  he  ran  down- 
stairs, humming  a  college-song,  to  which  Armstrong 
added  a  second  as  he  came  out  upon  the  porch  a  few 
minutes  later.  They  walked  and  talked  there  to- 
gether, taking  in  deep,  refreshing  draughts  of  the 
balmy  air,  and  watching  the  brightening  dyes  of  the 
sunset  clouds,  the  purple  bloom  of  the  mountains 
beneath,  until  the  timid  tinkle  of  the  bell  called  them 
to  the  evening  meal. 


1 8  Two. 

Annie  had  snatched  time  to  slip  on  another  dress — 
a  blue  lawn,  which  was  becoming  to  her  a  year  ago — 
and  to  smooth  her  hair.  But  her  complexion  was 
sadly  muddied  by  the  red-hot  stove,  and  could  not  be 
cleared  in  her  present  state  of  nervous  agitation.  She 
looked  hot  and  hurried  and  the  plaits  between  her 
brows  showed  very  plainly  even  when  she  tried  to 
smile  her  greetings  to  the  guest.  George  confessed 
reluctantly  to  himself  that  he  had  never  seen  her 
when  she  was  less  pretty ;  and  Mr.  Armstrong,  who 
remembered  Annie  Deane  fresh  and  fair  as  the  sweet- 
briar  roses  he  had  just  left,  lamented  secretly  that 
blondes  "  went  off "  so  soon  after  they  were  married 
or  had  any  experience  of  the  realities  of  life.  So  con- 
scious was  the  hostess  of  the  unsuitableness  of  the 
impromptu  repast  to  the  needs  of  a  hungry  man,  that 
she  commenced  an  eager  apology — poor  child  ! — by 
the  time  George  finished  saying  grace. 

"  I  can  offer  you  nothing  more  substantial  as  a  relish 
than  cottage  cheese,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  she  said  to  the 
elegant  young  lawyer.  "  If  I  had  had  notice  of  your 
coming,  I  would  have  had  broiled  chicken,  or  ham,  or 
something  nourishing.  The  biscuits  are  a  trifle  too 
brown,  I  am  sorry  to  see,  George,  but  the  ovens  get 
so  hot  on  ironing-day.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  cup 
of  nice  coffee,  Mr.  Armstrong.  George  and  I  never 
drink  it,  so  we  rarely  keep  any  in  the  house." 

Here  George  frowned  at  her  and  checked  her  reve- 
lations ;  put  her  down  at  the  same  time  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  so  abashed  was  she  at  the  remotest 
intimation  of  his  disapproval. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  she  presented  herself  in 


Two.  19 

the  parlor  where  the  friends  sat  at  the  moonlighted 
window.  Their  gay  voices  and  occasional  bursts  of 
laughter  had  made  the  kitchen,  where  she  stood  wash- 
ing up  the  tea-things  and  setting  the  sponge  for  the 
morrow's  baking,  seem  hotter  and  closer  than  she  had 
ever  felt  it  before.  Both  arose  at  her  entrance  and 
Mr.  Armstrong,  setting  forward  the  easiest  chair  in 
the  room  for  her,  seated  himself  by  her  and  tried  to 
draw  her  into  conversation. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  out  of  society  trim. 
Want  of  practice  in  small  talk,  ignorance  of  the  pop- 
ular themes  at  present  current  in  society,  general  rusti- 
ness  in  repartee  and  embarrassment  at  being  addressed 
in  what  sounds  like  a  forgotten  tongue — all  these  had 
grown  upon  Annie  with  rapidity  and  force  during  her 
half-year's  sojourn  in  Wilkeston,  and  the  study  and 
practice  of  the  numberless  minute  economies  which 
were  a  part  of  her  system  of  helping  George.  She 
despised  herself  for  the  dismay  with  which  she  recol- 
lected that  there  was  no  hope  now  of  the  butter 
"  lasting,"  and  that  the  breakfast  omelette  would  take 
seven  eggs ;  that  the  forty  cents  she  had  sent  by  a 
neighbor's  child  to  "  the  store  "  for  a  pound  of  coffee 
was  a  formidable  deduction  from  her  little  supply  of 
ready  money.  But  her  mind  would  stray  back  to  these 
reflections  and  her  heart  ache  over  her  impoverish- 
ment as  at  real  bereavement.  She  so  wanted  to  keep 
even  with  the  world  !  To  contract  a  debt  was  to  fall 
hopelessly  behind-hand,  for  they  had  never  a  penny  to 
spare  for  settling  back  accounts.  To  slip  in  this  nar- 
row, steep  path  was  to  tumble  headlong.  Then  she 
was  tired,  with  that  horrible  feeling  of  "  goneness  " 


2O  TWO. 

that  has  its  headquarters  just  below  the  breast-bone 
with  women,  concerning  which  it  is  useless  to  talk  with 
men — the  favored  ones  to  whom  hysteria  is  terra  in- 
cognita. 

Mr.  Armstrong  spoke  of  the  loveliness  of  her  valley- 
home,  grew  enthusiastic  in  description  of  the  various 
scenes  through  which  he  had  passed  in  his  tour  and 
she  assented  to  everything  with  a  forced  smile  and  a 
hackneyed  phrase.  "  Yes,  very  much  so  ! "  "  Do  you 
think  so?  "  "  Ah  !  "  and  "  Indeed  !  "  succeeded  each 
other  slowly  and  mechanically,  growing  flatter  with 
every  repetition  and  George  fidgeted  in  actual  tor- 
ment. Mr.  Armstrong  supposed  she  shared  in  her  hus- 
band's fondness  for  walking  and  climbing,  that  his  fa- 
vorite views  were  likewise  hers. 

"  I  hardly  ever  go  out,  except  on  Sundays,"  was  the 
answer.  "  I  am  a  great  home-body.  George's  busi- 
ness obliges  him  to  be  abroad  a  great  deal.  He  must 
visit  his  congregation.  My  work  is  in  the  house." 

"  He  tells  me  you  are  a  model  housewife.  You 
must  not  scold  him  for  telling  tales  out  of  school. 
We  were  boys  together,  you  know,  and  whatever  re- 
lates to  him  interests  me." 

"  Yes !  "  said  Annie,  seeing  he  expected  some  reply, 
and  trying  to  arouse  herself  to  be  pleased  at  his  praises 
of  herself  and  friendship  for  her  husband. 

She  fancied,  but  she  might  have  been  mistaken,  that 
she  heard  George,  who  sat  back  in  the  shadow,  gnash 
his  teeth — she  had  no  idea  upon  what  provocation. 

"  He  has  been  exciting  my  envy  yet  more,"  pursued 
the  man  of  the  world,  bent  upon  putting  his  shy  com- 
panion at  her  ease,  "  by  describing  your  study-even- 


Two.  21 

ings.  He  leaves  no  means  untried  to  cure  me  of  my 
bachelor  proclivities.  He  was  always  a  walking  ency- 
clopaedia of  art  and  literature.  It  is  fortunate  that  he 
has  married  one  who  can  sympathize  with  and  aid 
him  in  the  pursuits  he  loves  so  well.  So  you  have 
been  reading" — 

A  list  of  books  and  authors  followed.  A  deadly, 
creeping  cold  passed  from  Annie's  heart  to  the  very 
tips  of  her  fingers  and  toes  ;  stirred  the  roots  of  her 
hair,  as  he  proceeded  to  ask  her  opinion  of  one  and 
another,  their  style,  their  theories,  the  force  or  sophis- 
try of  their  arguments,  the  fairness  or  illogical  nature 
of  their  deductions.  It  was  all  a  confusing  jargon. 
She  could  not  have  told  whether  Lord  Rosse  was  fa- 
mous for  his  big  telescope,  or  if  he  had  discovered  the 
North  Pole ;  whether  Corneille  wrote  tragedies,  or 
comedies,  or  history,  or  in  what  language.  At  the 
third  pause  in  Mr.  Armstrong's  monologue,  he  began 
to  suspect  that  she  was  wildly  at  sea ;  at  the  next,  he 
understood  that  she  was  completely  swamped.  She 
was  too  weary  and  frightened  to  turn  the  conversation 
into  other  channels  as  a  cunning  woman  would  have 
done,  or  to  pretend  to  knowledge  she  did  not  possess,  a 
ruse  one  less  truthful  would  have  attempted.  She  sat 
dumb  and  stupid  in  an  agony  of  shame,  and  longing 
to  hide  her  disgraced  head  somewhere — the  head  that 
throbbed  with  such  pain.  She  thought  with  desire 
of  the  cool  and  darkness  of  the  grave.  George  came 
to  the  rescue  just  in  season  to  prevent  a  burst  of  hys- 
terical tears.  He  wanted  to  show  Mr.  Armstrong  the 
valley  and  the  river  threading  it,  from  the  hill  back  of 
the  parsonage.  When  they  returned  from  their  moon- 


22 


Two. 


light    stroll    Mrs.  Sherman   had    retired  to   her   own 
room. 

The  mortifications  of  the  evening  were  never  men- 
tioned between  husband  and  wife.  She  was  inex- 
pressibly relieved  and  humbly  grateful  for  George's 
forbearance  ;  ready  to  kiss  his  feet  in  worshipful  love, 
because  his  behavior  to  her  that  night  and  next  morn- 
ing was  exactly  the  same  as  usual.  She  was  not  privy 
to  his  consultation  with  David  Coppcrfield  after  Mr. 
Armstrong's  departure ;  did  not  dream  then  that  he 
had  abandoned  the  task  of  forming  his  Dora's  mind. 
He  reasoned  the  matter  out  coolly  and  clearly  with 
himself.  Annie  was  incurably  domestic  and  common- 
place. This  did  not  oblige  him  to  curb  his  natural 
love  of  learning  or  abate  the  ardor  of  his  pursuit  of 
eminence  in  his  profession  and  the  means  of  useful- 
ness to  his  kind.  Since  he  could  not  take  her  with 
him  up  the  heights,  she  must  lag  behind.  He  could 
still  be  an  exemplary  husband ;  still  cherish  and  love 
the  wife  of  his  youth.  This  resolution  was  the  visible 
beginning  of  the  parting  of  their  ways,  and  feeling 
that  this  was  so  he  made  it  deliberately  and  conscien- 
tiously. He  gave  up  trying  to  elevate  her  intellect 
and  cultivate  her  imagination.  She  was  a  good  wo- 
man, true  in  heart,  upright  in  principle,  constant  and 
fervent  in  endeavor  to  discharge  her  duty  to  her 
Creator  and  her  fellow-creatures,  pure  in  thought  and 
deed — and  she  loved  him  with  all  her  might.  I  am 
afraid  he  said,  "  her  little  might."  If  so,  he  only 
adopted  the  opinion  of  other  men  as  learned  an.l  as 
just,  in  assuming  that  mediocrity  of  mental  powers  and 
shallowness  of  heart  are  inseparable. 


Two.  23 

The  report  carried  by  Mr.  Armstrong  into  the  outer 
world  of  his  friend's  talents  led  to  results  seriously  af- 
fecting the  Shermans'  after-life.  The  one  of  these 
which  was  soonest  apparent  was  a  correspondence  with 
a  literary  journal  of  some  note  which  brought  a  small 
but  welcome  addition  to  their  income. 

"  How  kind  in  Mr.  Armstrong !  "  exclaimed  Annie, 
with  glistening  eyes,  as  her  husband  tossed  a  ten  dol- 
lar bill  into  her  lap — the  payment  for  his  first  article. 
"  I  always  believed  that  if  your  talents  were  but  known 
you  could  make  a  handsome  living." 

George  laughed  carelessly,  not  sneeringly,  yet  some- 
thing in  the  sound  brought  a  flush  to  her  cheek. 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  I 
know,  of  course,  that  you  lobk  for  other  and  higher 
rewards  " — 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  explain,  dear."  George 
patted  her  head.  "  I  comprehend  just  what  you  would 
say.  You  are  a  dear,  sweet  wife — a  jewel  of  a  practi- 
cal woman.  Perhaps  we  are  better  mated  than  if  we 
were  more  alike." 

In  spite  of  his  kindness  the  impression  made  by  the 
unfortunate  scene  with  his  college-mate  lingered  per- 
sistently and  painfully  in  her  memory.  Divining,  by 
and  by,  with  the  ready  intuition  of  a  sore-hearted 
woman,  the  cause  of  the  change  in  George's  educa- 
tional tactics,  she  made  up  a  stout  mind  to  "  improve  " 
herself.  She  abstracted,  one  volume  at  a  time,  Hal- 
lam's  Middle  Ages  from  her  spouse's  bookshelves  as 
a  promising  specimen  brick  of  solid  literature,  and 
gnawed  at  it  secretly,  like  a  conscientious  mouse  at  a 
tough  rind  of  cheese,  at  every  odd  moment,  propping 


24  Two. 

the  book  up  in  unconscious  plagiarism  of  Emily 
Bronte,  in  front  of  her  bread-tray,  and  snatching  para- 
graphs when  she  rested  for  a  few  seconds  on  the  churn- 
dasher.  It  was  mouldy,  as  well  as  tough.  Ironing  in 
the  dog-days  was  easier  and  more  entertaining ;  but 
she  held  on  womanfully  and  nibbled  her  way  out  to 
"  Finis  "  in  three  months.  Being  far  from  well  now, 
and  feeling  the  need  of  lighter  intellectual  diet,  she  at- 
tacked Pollock's  "  Course  of  Time."  She  got  along 
faster  with  this,  for  it  was  "  quite  suitable  Sunday 
reading,"  and  she  was  often  too  much  indisposed  to  at- 
tend church  that  fall.  She  did  not  skip  a  word ;  marked 
carefully  each  day  the  line  at  which  she  left  off  and  re- 
sumed at  that  point  on  the  morrow.  The  second  un- 
dertaking was  completed,  without  serious  damage  to 
health  or  spirits,  one  gloomy  November  Sabbath,  when 
George,  coming  in  at  the  close  of  afternoon  service, 
beheld  her  fast  asleep  upon  the  4ounge,  the  book  on 
the  floor  at  her  side. 

He  picked  it  up,  smiled  pityingly  and  indulgently 
in  glancing  from  the  title  to  her  face  which  even  in 
slumber  had  not  lost  the  wan,  harassed  expression 
the  wise  women  of  the  congregation  assured  him  was 
perfectly  natural  and  would  pass  away  in  due  time. 

"  Poor  Pussy  !  No  wonder  she  is  exhausted,"  he 
said,  under  his  breath.  "  She  selected  it  because  it 
looked  religious  I  suppose  and  did  not  read  a  dozen 
lines  before  succumbing  to  its  soporific  effect." 

Their  first  child  was  born  that  night — a  fine  girl,  so 
like  her  father  that  the  proud  wife  and  mother  would 
hear  of  no  name  but  Georgina  for  her.  In  three  weeks 
she  dismissed  the  hired  nurse  and  resumed  her  place 


Two.  25 

as  housekeeper  and  servant-in-general,  winning  higher 
encomiums  than  ever  from  the  clever  managers  of  the 
parish  upon  her  "  faculty  "  and  energy.  Little  Harry 
came  next,  eighteen  months  later ;  two  years  after- 
ward, Willie ;  and  Baby  Emma  was  six  months  old 
when  Mr.  Sherman  accepted  a  call  to  Aiken,  a  sea- 
board manufacturing  town.  The  church  that  desired 
his  services  was  an  important  one  and  the  salary  quad- 
ruple what  he  now  received.  Annie  cried  herself  to 
sleep  in  silent  joyfulness  the  night  on  which  George 
announced  to  her  his  decision.  She  was  like  one  long 
imprisoned  when  he  hears  his  cell-door  unbarred  and 
knows  it  means  liberty.  Her  present  life  was  slavery, 
however  cheerfully  she  might  perform  the  labors 
crowded  into  the  working-day  which  for  her  was  never 
less  than  sixteen  hours  long.  Her  lungs,  physical  and 
spiritual,  ached  for  one  full,  free  respiration  such  as 
she  had  not  had  time  to  take  since  Georgie's  birth. 

"  My  faith  in  your  final  success  has  never  wavered," 
she  said  to  her  husband,  her  face  alight  with  prideful 
pleasure. 

And  he  answered  with  the  gesture  and  smile  she 
remembered  as  well  as  if  she  had  seen  them  first  but 
yesterday,  "  You  told  me  once  I  recollect  that  my 
talents  would  earn  me  a  living  in  time.  I  am  glad,  for 
your  sake,  dearie,  that  there  is  a  prospect  of  this. 
Still,  lowly  as  is  my  position  here,  we  have  had  a  very 
happy,  restful  time  in  this,  our  first  home.  We  shall 
hardly  be  so  care-free  and  independent  in  a  city." 

"  Restful ! "  repeated  Annie's  heart,  with  a  groan, 
but  she  held  her  peace.  Was  not  the  day  of  her  de- 
liverance at  hand  ? 


PART  II. 

"  WHAT  is  the  reason  that,  while  clergymen  are  pro- 
verbially careless  about  business  matters,  and  have 
a  very  imperfect  appreciation  of  the  value  of  money, 
their  wives  so  often  develop  parsimonious  traits  ?  learn 
the  practice,  not  only  of  small  economies  in  their  own 
households,  but  also  of  cunning  play  upon  the  sympa- 
thies and  means  of  others  ?  "  said  a  lady  to  me  once. 
"  Some  of  the  most  adroit  beggars  I  have  ever  known, 
and,  beyond  all  question,  the  sharpest  managers,  were 
the  partners  of  popular  preachers." 

To  which  I  replied  :  "  She  is  dull  indeed  who  does 
not  learn  in  the  school  of  Necessity,  and  that  soul  is 
of  purest  metal  that  does  not  tarnish  in  such  an  at- 
mosphere of  fretting  anxieties  and  noisome  dreads 
and  corrosive  disappointments  as  surrounds  the 
modern  pastor's  wife.  That  there  are  exceptions  to 
the  universality  of  the  latter  situation,  I  cheerfully, 
gratefully  admit,  but  they  are  notable  and  not  numer- 
ous. That  the  pastor  himself  so  frequently  passes 
through  the  test  unharmed  is  usually  because  the 
active  wits  and  unceasing  care  of  his  helpmeet  guard 
him  from  the  influences  that  dwarf  and  canker  her." 

Annie  Sherman  had  dreamed  of  rest,  appreciation 
and  help  in  her  new  home  and  in  the  imposing  recep- 
tion that  greeted  them  there  she  tasted  the  first  deli- 
26 


Two.  27 

cious  drops  of  the  cup  in  which  she  was  to  forget 
toils  and  dangers  overpast.  Her  cramped  nature 
seemed  to  expand ;  the  heart,  so  long  stifled  by  the 
mighty  aggregate  of  petty  duties  and  trials,  beat  al- 
most lightly.  The  parsonage  was  a  modern,  showy 
building,  and  the  ladies  of  the  congregation  had 
carpeted  it  throughout,  entirely  furnished  the  parlors 
and  study.  The  house  was  filled  on  the  evening  of 
the  day  succeeding  the  Shermans'  arrival.  A  com- 
mittee of  ladies  had  taken  possession  of  the  premises 
at  noon,  and  under  their  direction  preparations  for  the 
festival  were  made  upon  a  scale  that  seemed  princely 
to  the  unsophisticated  eyes  regarding  them.  Mrs. 
Sherman  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  in  all  her 
previous  life,  and  the  children  betrzyed  their  rustic 
breeding,  despite  her  repeated  checks,  by  exclama- 
tions of  the  wildest  amaze  and  delight.  If  anything 
could  have  marred  the  mother's  pleasure,  it  would 
have  been  the  glimpses  she  caught  now  and  then  of 
amused  and  meaning  smiles  exchanged  between  the 
ladies,  who  treated  the  little  ones  to  all  sorts  of  delica- 
cies, hitherto  unknown  to  their  palates,  and  answered 
their  questions  with  unfailing  good-humor.  This  was 
the  first  shadow  that  fell  athwart  the  new-born  bright- 
ness of  her  spirit  but  it  was  only  a  passing  mortifica- 
tion. Children  would  be  children,  and  they  would 
soon  become  used  to  that  which  now  excited  their  as- 
tonishment. Her  complacency  had  a  severer  blow 
before  the  business  of  the  evening  fairly  began. 

Nothing  doubting  that  the  committee  would  remain 
where  they  were  until  the  company  assembled,  she 
slipped  away  from  them  as  darkness  came  on  and  ar- 


28  Two. 

rayed  herself  carefully  in  her  gala  costume — a  brown 
silk,  with  raised  satin  figures  of  the  same  hue  upon  it. 
"  Brocade,"  it  was  called  in  its  day,  which  was  the 
winter  of  her  marriage,  and,  like  most  marked  styles, 
it  soon  "  went  out."  Annie  had  taken  great  care  of 
the  dress — had  made  it  over  this  season  and  re-trimmed 
it  with  brown  velvet,  not  grudging  the  expense  that 
made  it  look  "  quite  as  good  as  new."  She  remarked 
upon  the  excellence  of  the  texture  and  fit  and  the 
general  freshness  of  the  whole  robe  while  she  got  her- 
self ready. 

"  It  is  a  comfort  to  feel  that  one  is  well-dressed  ! " 
she  said  to  George,  who  was  shaving  in  the  same  room. 
"  And  brown  is  such  a  modest,  serviceable  color  !  One 
is  never  overdressed  in  a  small  company,  or  feels  out 
of  place  in  a  large  assembly,  when  she  has  it  on." 

George  let  her  twitter  on  as  he  would  a  small  brown 
wren,  and  thought  his  own  thoughts,  never  so  much 
as  looking  at  her  when  she  pronounced  the  new  blue 
cravat  her  sister  had  sent  her  at  Christmas,  "  such  a 
lovely  contrast "  to  her  dress  ;  assented  pleasantly  to 
the  supposition  that  she  "  had  better  go  down,  in  case 
anybody  should  come  a  little  ahead  of  time." 

The  supper,  with  the  exception  of  creams  and  other 
perishable  edibles,  was  laid  in  the  dining-room,  the 
parlors  were  ablaze  with  gas,  and  Mrs.  Hayward, 
the  chief  manager  of  the  entertainment,  attended  by 
three  other  ladies,  was  taking  a  final  survey  of  the  ar- 
rangements for  doing  their  pastor — and  themselves — 
honor.  She  was  a  handsome  woman — a  widow  of 
large  means  and  much  popular  talent,  the  recognized 
leader  in  the  church  and  a  personage  of  consequence 


Two.  29 

in  the  community.  Her  satisfied  smile  showed  how 
well  she  had  acquitted  herself  in  the  present  enter- 
prise. Mr.  Sherman  was  her  chosen  candidate  out  of 
all  who  had  preached  in  the  vacant  pulpit,  and  she 
meant  the  reception  to  be  a  "sensation."  . 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  looked  in  upon  us,  Mrs.  Sher- 
man," she  said,  at  Annie's  entrance.  "  I  am  just  going 
home.  The  carriage  has  been  waiting  some  time.  I 
shall  return  in  less  than  an  hour — be  the  first  on  the 
ground.  You  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  dress  and 
rest  until  we  come  back.  If  we  have  seemed  a  little 
arbitrary  in  refusing  to  allow  you  to  assist  us,  it  was 
because  we  wanted  you  to  be  bright  and  fresh  for  the 
evening.  Ah,  Mr.  Sherman  !  "  this  radiantly,  as  George 
appeared.  "  We  are  in  flight,  I  assure  you  !  We  trust 
you  to  see  that  Mrs.  Sherman  does  not  weary  herself 
in  body  and  mind  until  we  rally  to  her  assistance  in 
force.  Au  revoir  /" 

George  handed  the  First  Directress  and  her  aides 
into  the  carriage,  talking  easily  and  gallantly  on  the 
way,  shut  them  in  and  bowed  them  off. 

"  As  if  he  had  done  the  same  every  day  of  his  life," 
reflected  Annie,  viewing  it  all  from  the  entry.  "  I  am 
glad  he  feels  so  much  at  home.  They  overpower  me 
somewhat — these  fine  ladies  who  have  so  much  man- 
ner !  I  suppose-because  I  have  lived  in  the  backwoods 
so  long." 

"  We  could  ask  no  more  beautiful  home — no  kinder 
people,  Annie,"  said  George,  treading  the  soft  carpets 
with  marked  satisfaction  and  looking  about  him  on 
the  furniture  that  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  plain 
appointments  of  the  country  parsonage. 


30  Two. 

"  The  lines  have  fallen  to  us  in  pleasant  places,"  re- 
plied his  wife,  somewhat  absently. 

She  was  before  the  long  pier-glass,  pulling  down 
and  spreading  out  the  skirts  of  the  brown  silk ;  unty- 
ing and  re-arranging  the  blue  neck  ribbon.  A  queer 
sensation  was  creeping  over  her,  not  unlike  that  she 
had  felt  in  dreams  of  mingling  in  a  gay  company  of  ac 
quaintances,  all  in  their  best  attire,  and  coming  sud- 
denly to  the  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  she  was  in- 
her  night-gown.  She  said  to  her  discontented  self 
that  she  looked  like  a  Dutch  doll,  or  the  painted 
shepherdess  upon  the  gaudy  tea-tray  that  used  to 
stand  upon  her  grandmother's  buffet — so  short  and 
scant  had  her  dress  grown  under  Mrs.  Hayward's 
eyes.  Her  skin  had  lost  its  transparency  in  the  steam 
of  stove  and  wash-tub ;  her  hair  was  thin  and  dry ; 
there  were  crows-feet  at  the  corners  of  her  eyes  and 
the  blue  of  the  eyes  themselves  had  faded.  She 
wished,  for  George's  sake,  that  she  were  as  bright  and 
pretty  as  when  he  married  her.  He  did  not  look  a 
day  older  than  then.  His  step  was  light,  his  complex- 
ion clear,  his  whole  mien  that  of  a  man  in  the  glory  of 
his  youth  and  strength.  She  had  pursuaded  him  into 
the  purchase  of  a  handsome  suit  of  clothes  before 
entering  upon  his  new  pastorate.  They  became  him 
well  and  he  would  become  any  station  however  ex- 
alted. 

"  It  is  only  what  you  deserve  my  dear,"  she  con- 
tinued more  heartily.  "  The  people  evidently  under- 
stand that  they  have  drawn  a  prize.  T  knew  how  it 
would  be ! " 

She  would   not   attract   his  attention  to  her   an- 


Two.  31 

tiquated  apparel  by  repeating  Mrs.  Hayward's  obser- 
vations. 

"  She  probably  did  not  notice  in  the  hurry  of  the 
moment  that  I  had  changed  my  dress,"  she  tried  to 
comfort  herself  by  saying.  "  Brown  is  such  an  unre- 
markable color.  She  could  not  be  expected  to  know 
that  I  had  nothing  gayer  than  this.  I  suppose  the  chil- 
dren and  I  do  look  countrified.  I  can  only  hope  that 
the  guests  will  be  too  much  taken  up  with  their  new 
pastor  to  bestow  many  remarks  upon  us.  I  shall  be 
well  content  to  stand  in  his  shadow." 

To  do  the  guests  justice,  they  did  their  best  to  make 
her  forget  her  shabbiness— the  more  marked  to  her  as 
to  others  when  compared  with  the  fashionable  toilettes 
that  presently  filled  the  spacious  rooms.  Before  the 
splendors  of  these  the  impression  of  being  in  absolute 
undress  increased  upon  her  until  in  the  abjectness  of 
her  shame  she  felt  like  crawling  under  the  nearest 
table  or  sofa  to  hide  herself  from  the  curious  regards 
bent  upon  her ;  sympathized  fully  with  the  bashfulness 
that  caused  the  two  elder  children  who  had  been  al- 
lowed to  sit  up  "  to  see  the  party,"  to  shrink  into  ob- 
scure corners,  stick  their  fingers  in  their  mouths,  and 
obstinately  resist  all  efforts  to  draw  them  from  their 
covert.  "Mrs.  Sherman"  was  put  into  the  most  con- 
spicuous place  in  the  room  beside  her  well-dressed, 
animated  husband  who  remembered  every  visage  he 
had  ever  seen  before  and  fitted  the  right  name  to  each 
owner  as  he  took  him  by  the  hand,  while  her  brain 
whirled  dizzily  ;  her  senses  were  caught  up  and  tossed  to 
and  fro  by  the  restless  sea  of  strange  faces,  the  surge 
of  many  voices  in  her  unaccustomed  ears.  She  smiled 


32  Two. 

and  bowed  and  tried  to  seem  at  her  ease  and  to  catch 
the  prevailing  tone  of  familiar  converse  and  well-bred 
cordiality,  the  social  spirit  of  those  who,  belonging  to 
the  same  church,  and  most  of  them  to  the  same  neigh- 
borhood, rejoiced  together  as  one  family  in  the  re- 
union and  in  the  occasion  for  it. 

She  failed,  and  she  knew  it,  but  bore  the  knowledge 
without  other  sign  of  discomfiture  than  a  certain  con- 
straint of  tone  and  expression,  greater  awkwardness 
of  movement  and  diffidence  of  speech.  She  im- 
pressed those  among  whom  she  was  henceforward  to 
dwell  with  the  facts  that  she  was  rustic  and  not  intel- 
lectual ;  amiable  and  not  ambitious ;  timid,  but  very 
grateful  for  the  kindness  shown  to  herself  and  family. 
Things  might  have  been  much  more  unfavorable  for  her 
future  comfort  had  she  been  a  woman  of  more  "  char- 
acter." The  ladies  of  the  congregation  liked  her  none  ' 
the  less  for  being  unassuming  and  ignorant.  Their 
former  pastor  was  a  studious  bachelor  who  never  in- 
terfered in  their  department  of  action.  They  were 
too  much  in  the  habit  of  following  in  Mrs.  Hayward's 
wake,  and  she  was  too  fond  of  leading  for  them  to 
contemplate  cheerfully  the  prospect  of  submitting  to 
the  dictatorship  which  had  from  time  immemorial 
been  the  prerogative  of  the  minister's  wife  who  chose 
to  accept  the  reins.  They  could  have  wished,  since 
Mrs.  Sherman  was  so  "  incapable,"  that  she  were  a 
more  comely  lay-figure,  but,  after  all,  it  was  tacitly 
agreed  that  her  husband  would  not  be  less  popular 
because  she  was  uninteresting. 

"  She  is  a  domestic  dowdy  without  a  symptom  of 
style  or  manner ;  as  destitute  of  dignity  as  she  is  of 


Two. 


33 


brilliancy — but  there  is  no  harm  in  her,"  had  been 
Mrs.  Hayward's  report  that  afternoon  to  her  invalid 
sister  who  was  not  able  to  attend  the  house-warming. 

The  lady  mentally  added  dullness  of  perception 
and  feeling  to  the  unflattering  list  of  qualifications 
for  the  office  of  nonentity  in  parish  and  society  as  she 
noted  Annie's  apparent  unconsciousness  of  the  homely 
absurdity  of  her  figure  amid  its  present  surroundings. 

"  She  is  naturally  awkward  and  is  unused  to  enter- 
tain company,"  thought  the  critic.  "  She  looks  like  a 
good-natured  dolt,  but  she  feels  none  of  the  distress 
under  which  a  sensitive  person  would  writhe  in  dis- 
covering her  unfitness  for  her  present  position.  Why 
must  our  most  gifted  preachers  marry  while  they  are 
boys?  Can  her  husband  be  blind  to  her  deficiencies, 
or  is  he  a  miracle  of  self-control  ?  " 

She  turned  from  these  meditations  with  mingled 
compassion  and  admiration  to  the  lion  of  the  evening, 
and  wasted  no  more  thoughts  upon  his  consort  in 
name. 

The  lion  of  the  town  he  speedily  became  and  under 
the  inspiration  of  the  enthusiastic  devotion  of  his 
parishioners,  the  tokens  of  kindliness  and  appreciation 
he  received  from  the  citizens  at  large,  his  genius  ri- 
pened into  more  worthy  fruitage  than  it  had  hitherto 
borne.  During  his  seclusion  in  the  mountain  town- 
ship he  had  laid  up  treasures  for  future  use  that  stood 
him  in  good  stead  now — mental  stores  and  a  magazine 
of  physical  forces  which  were  beyond  all  price.  His 
learning  and  eloquence  filled  his  church  to  overflowing 
within  six  months  after  he  assumed  the  charge  of  it. 
At  the  end  of  a  year  they  tore  it  down  and  built  a 


34  Two. 

greater — one  larger  than  any  three  other  houses  of 
worship  in  Aiken,  and  there  was  not  a  vacant  pew  in 
it  three  weeks  after  the  dedication.  "A  prize,"  his 
wife  had  said,  the  evening  of  the  reception.  The 
Aikenites  knew  it  now,  if  they  had  not  then,  and  their 
pride  in  their  acquisition  leaped  the  bounds  of  the 
usual  means  by  which  a  flock  is  fain  to  testify  appro- 
bation of  the  shepherd's  services.  Figuratively  they 
fell  at  his  feet,  kissed  the  hem  of  his  garment  and  of- 
fered their  necks  to  his  tread.  Literally  they  doubled 
his  salary ;  let  him  have  his  own  way  in  all  ecclesias- 
tical matters ;  ftted  him  continually  and  flattered  him 
unceasingly,  and  wearied  not  of  making  him  presents 
of  every  description  under  the  sun  that  could  contri- 
bute to  his  individual  comfort  and  pleasure. 

He  would  have  been  more — or  less — than  human 
had  these  things  failed  to  move  him.  Being  at  heart 
true  and  earnest,  and  in  purpose  upright,  they  stimu- 
lated, instead  of  enervating  him.  His  most  determined 
detractors— for  envy  is  begotten  by  eminence  as  surely 
as  the  sun  draws  water  from  the  bog — called  him  dog- 
matic, vain,  and  arbitrary;  bruited  that  adulation  had 
turned  his  head,  and  talked  wisely  of  the  rocket  and 
the  stick  and  their  willingness  to  abide  the  workings 
of  time.  Even  they  never  said  that  he  was  idle  or 
negligent ;  that  he  failed  to  play  the  man  at  the  height 
of  his  dangerous  elevation.  Of  course  the  ladies  of 
church  and  congregation  were  foremost  in  the  ranks 
of  the  brilliant  preacher's  allies  and  admirers. 

I  say  "  of  course,"  in  no  invidious  or  sarcastic  tone. 
While  GOD'S  own  law  of  the  mutual  attraction  of  the 
sexes  holds  good,  and  while  women's  nature  remains 


Two. 


35 


more  emotional  as  more  devout  than  that  of  man,  the 
clergyman  will  continue  to  find  his  warmest  supporters 
and  most  faithful  yoke-fellows  among  the  imitators  of 
Dorcas,  Persis,  Priscilla,  and  Damaris,  of  whose  dis- 
tinguished services  the  celibate  Chief  Apostle  was 
proud  to  make  honorable  mention.  It  was  natural, 
moreover,  that  the  women  of  the  Aiken  Tabernacle 
should  be  fond  of  their  attractive  minister ;  should  sit 
under  his  pulpit  discourses  with  great  delight,  and 
hearken,  with  rapt  ears,  to  the  many  profound,  witty 
and  pleasing  sayings  which  made  him  the  ornament  of 
their  parlors.  He  was  a  model  pastor,  they  were 
agreed  in  affirming,  sympathizing,  instructive  and  en- 
tertaining, as  circumstances  appealed  to  his  affluent 
heart  and  mind,  and  divided  his  visits  so  impartially 
between  rich  and  poor  that  neither  class  could  com- 
plain or  feel  slighted.  In  fine,  he  was  all  they  could 
desire — more — far  more  than  they  had  hoped  for. 

"  For,"  said  the  very  candid  ones,  "  how  could  we 
imagine,  without  seeing  and  knowing  him,  that  there 
was  a  faultless  being  in  this  imperfect  world  ?  But 
what  a  pity  "  (Full  chorus  here  !)  "  that  he  has  such  an 
uncongenial  wife ! " 

Which  brings  us,  by  a  somewhat  abrupt  transition, 
from  the  high  noon  of  our  hero's  career  to  the  more 
checkered  existence  going  on  within  the  parsonage 
walls. 

Mrs.  Hayward  had  not  been  remiss  in  duty  to  those 
connected  by  lawful  and  blood  ties  with  the  Man  of 
the  Day.  If  she  anticipated  his  wishes  and  seconded 
his  endeavors  in  church  and  Sabbath-school;  if  she 
was  an  excellent  listener  to  his  sermons  and  lectures 


36  Two. 

and  so  discriminating  in  her  praises  of  these  that  he 
soon  found  himself  speculating  in  his  study  as  to  the 
probable  effect  of  this,  that,  and  the  other  passage 
upon  her  speaking  face,  or  regardful  of  her  views  and 
desires  as  he  expounded  doctrines  and  enforced  belief 
— he  was  also  reminded  of  her  at  every  turn  in  the 
home  she  delighted  to  beautify.  She  took  Mrs. 
Sherman  in  hand  the  day  after  the  reception,  and 
had  guided  her  in  all  important  affairs  ever  since. 
Under  her  tutelage  the  brown  figured  silk  had  vanished 
from  Aiken  sight  and  ken  before  it  was  sported  a  sec- 
ond time  in  that  lively  place ;  the  stiff  little  curls,  like 
twisted  wisps  of  pale  straw,  cherished  by  Mrs.  Sher- 
man as  a  souvenir  of  her  youthful  charms  and  courting 
days,  when  George  called  them  "  golden,"  and  "  sunny," 
were  trained  into  more  modest  and  modish  bandeaux, 
and  the  children  were  made  almost  presentable.  An- 
other bud  was  added  to  the  cluster  in  the  parents' 
possession  when  they  had  lived  eighteen  months  in 
Aiken — a  little  girl,  who  was  baptized  in  the  hearing 
of  the  congregation  one  fine  Sabbath  as  "Aurelia 
Hayward."  Her,  the  First  Directress  would  have 
adopted  but  for  the  opposition  of  the  real  mother, 
who  still  held  to  certain  obsolete  notions  touching  the 
will  of  the  Creator  in  such  cases,  as  expressed  by  His 
disposition  of  what  too  many  American  matrons  re- 
gard as  questionable  blessings. 

"  If  he  had  not  meant  for  me  to  have  my  baby  for 
myself,  He  would  not  have  sent  her  to  me,"  said  the 
benighted  creature. 

But  "  Baby  Aura  " — Mrs.  Hayward's  pet-title  for 
her  name-child — was  a  daily  visitor  at  that  lady's 


Two.  37 

house ;  was  caressed,  and  indulged  and  adorned  by 
her  until  she  grew  into  such  dissimilarity  in  appear- 
ance and  behavior  to  her  healthy,  affectionate,  coun- 
try-born brothers  and  sisters  as  excited  general  remark. 
The  same  butcher,  baker,  and  grocer  served  Mrs. 
Hayward  and  Mrs.  Sherman,  and  they  did  their  shop- 
ping in  spring  and  autumn  in  company. 

"  It  is  very  kind  in  you  to  spend  so  much  time  and 
pains  upon  that  uninteresting  woman,"  said  the  in- 
valid sister  already  mentioned,  one  windy  April  after- 
noon, as  the  First  Directress  returned  from  a  prolonged 
expedition  through  millinery  and  dry  goods  stores. 

"  I  often  ask  myself  why  I  do  it,"  confessed  the 
other,  throwing  off  her  velvet  cloak  and  sables  and 
sinking  down  wearily  among  the  elastic  cushions  of 
her  lounge.  "  But  what  would  become  of  her  if  I 
were  to  let  her  go?  She  has  not  a  liberal  instinct  in 
her  composition.  But  for  me  she  would  never  have  a 
decent  thing  for  herself  and  children.  I  have  to  be 
constantly  on  the  watch  lest  she  should  sacrifice  taste 
to  cheapness,  or  get  a  scanty  pattern  for  the  sake  of 
saving  a  dollar  or  two.  Her  disposition  to  pinch 
wherever  she  can  is  incorrigible." 

"  She  yields  to  you  generally,  does  she  not  ?  " 

"  In  my  presence,  yes,  for  she  is  a  poor-spirited 
creature,  and  easily  put  out  of  countenance,  besides 
being  shrewd  enough  to  appreciate,  in  some  sort,  the 
value  of  a  wealthy,  generous  friend.  She  knows  she 
would  suffer  severely  were  I  to  withdraw  my  help. 
But  she  wears  such  a  miserable  face  sometimes  when 
I  have  argued  down  her  fears  that  she  '  cannot  afford 
this,'  and  her  suggestions  that  '  a  simpler  style  will 


38  Two. 

answer  her  purpose  as  well '  as  that  I  have  selected, 
that  I  am  ashamed  of  her.  The  very  clerks  know  her 
failings  and  appeal  to  me  for  directions.  How  a  man 
like  George  Sherman  ever,  even  in  his  '  veal '  days, 
fancied  himself  in  love  with  that  piece  of  common- 
place insipidity  passes  my  comprehension.  She  is  a 
clog  about  his  neck  and  will  be  always.  These  life- 
long blunders  are  miserable,  hopeless  complications !  " 

Her  handsome  face  looked  so  nearly  miserable  as 
she  said  it;  was  changed  from  its  ordinary  brightness 
into  such  haggardness  as  no  extremity  of  bodily 
fatigue  could  set  there,  that  her  sister  refrained  from 
a  second  glance  at  it.  She  was  a  good  and  pure 
woman  who  had  learned  wisdom  and  gentleness  from 
suffering,  yet  she  discerned  no  impropriety  in  this 
tender  sympathy  with  a  fascinating  man  who  was 
unsuitably  wedded  ;  did  not  hesitate  to  speak  out  the 
form  of  consolation  that  came  to  her  mind. 

"He  is  fortunate  in  finding  true  friends  who  com- 
prehend and  can  minister  to  his  spirit-needs.  But  for 
their  companionship  and  appreciation  of  his  higher 
nature  his  life  would  indeed  be  barren." 

The  tears  gathered  slowly  in  the  widow's  dark 
eyes. 

"  You  do  not  know  how  fearful  is  his  need,  Julia, 
or  how  blank  is  his  home  life ;  how  exquisite  are  his 
sensibilities;  how  strong  the  cravings  of  the  intel- 
lectual man  for  the  ready  intelligent  response  of  a 
kindred  soul  to  his  aspirations  and  inquiries.  Even 
I,  who  understand  him  as  few  others  ever  could  ;  to 
whom  he  says  he  can  reveal  more  of  his  inner  self 
than  to  any  one  else  alive,  am  daily  discovering  new 


Two.  39 

wants,  new  depths  of  thought  and  feeling,  greater 
capabilities  for  enjoyment  and  suffering.  And  this, 
after  our  intimate  friendship  of  six  years'  standing! 
But  what  does  this  dull-witted  clod  who  bears  his 
name  and  lives  under  his  roof — whom  the  world  calls 
his  *  wife ' — guess  of  all  this !  It  is  the  union  of  the 
owl  and  the  eagle  !  " 

At  the  same  hour,  Mrs.  Sherman,  having  laid  away 
carefully  her  cloth  cloak  and  mink  furs,  sat  herself 
down  at  her  writing-desk,  opened  a  "  Family  Expense 
Book,"  and  began  to  record  in  order  the  purchases  of 
the  day.  There  were  no  superfluities.  She  acknowl- 
edged this  to  herself;  also,  that  Mrs.  Hayward's 
maxim,  "  The  best  always  the  cheapest,"  was  in  the 
main  sound  policy.  Her  girls  ought  to  have  the 
dresses  and  hats  she  had  ordered ;  her  fast-growing 
boys  the  new  suits  from  the  tailor  who  made  the 
young  Haywards'  clothes.  The  black  silk,  the  lace 
collar  and  undersleeves,  the  steel-colored  poplin 
walking-suit  and  bonnet  to  match,  were  only  what  a 
woman  in  her  station  should  have  if  she  would  appear 
as  well  clad  as  her  neighbors.  Yet  her  face,  which 
had  been  anxious  when  she  begun  her  task,  was  sor- 
rowful and  perplexed  as  she  wrote  out  the  sum-total. 
There  was  nervous  alarm  in  the  twitching  muscles  of 
lips  and  fingers  as  she  reviewed  the  columns  of  figures 
in  the  vain  hope  of  discovering  some  mistake  that 
should  alter  the  result. 

Finally  she  shut  up  the  book  with  a  heavy  sigh  and 
locked  it  out  of  sight,  lest  George  should  happen  upon 
it  and  be  annoyed  by  what  he  called  her  "  Martha- 
like  calculation  of  ways  and  means,"  and,  leaning  her 


40  Two. 

head  upon  her  hand,  sank  into  deep  and  painful  rev- 
erie. She  had  no  confidante,  and  sometimes  she 
feared  the  seething  brain  would  lose  its  balance. 
Was  this  to  go  on  forever  ?  this  ceaseless  tug  at  the 
income  which,  sweat  and  strain  as  she  might,  was 
always  short  of  the  outgo  ?  this  contriving,  night  and 
day,  to  make  ends  join  that  had  never  yet  met — which 
shrank  further  and  further  apart  every  year?  The  sal- 
ary which  had  seemed  princely  when  talked  over  in  the 
country-manse  had  dwindled  and  wasted  like  fairy  gold 
in  the  handling.  It  took  ten  dollars  in  Aiken  to  do  the 
work  she  used  to  accomplrsh  with  one.  More  things 
were  needed  in  their  town  life ;  prices  were  higher, 
and  everything  was  to  be  bought.  She  had  not  un- 
derstood until  their  change  of  location  that  their  means 
in  their  old  home  had  been  really  enlarged  by  the 
homely  donations  of  her  fellow-housekeepers;  that 
when  Mrs.  Johnson  sent  her  a  pound  of  butter,  the 
gift  saved  her  from  buying  it ;  that  Mrs.  Vandyke's 
freshly-baked  loaf  of  rye  bread  which  came  to  her 
every  Wednesday  and  Saturday,  and  Mrs.  Peyster's 
invariable  rice-pudding  for  Sunday's  dinner,  were,  in 
effect,  as  much  money  in  her  purse.  City  parishioners 
never  took  this  into  account.  The  stores  and  markets 
were  as  convenient  to  her  as  to  them,  and  they  chose 
to  presume  that  she  had  as  much  money.  Yet  they 
were  generous  in  their  way.  She  could  not  complain 
of  a  want  of  presents.  She  had  laced  handkerchiefs, 
embroidered  hand-screens,  mantel  ornaments  in  such 
profusion  that  her  chimney-pieces  looked  like  the 
show-counters  of  a  fancy  store ;  cut  glass  cologne 
flasks,  five  pair ;  match-boxes  and  paper-cutters  and 


Two.  41 

paper  weights;  inkstands  of  all  patterns  and  four 
writing-desks ;  easels  for  pictures  and  carved  brackets 
for  books;  watch  cases  not  a  few,  and  six  jewelry 
stands  ;  three  glove  boxes  and  as  many  for  handker- 
chiefs ;  such  a  profusion  of  flower  vases,  she  had  to 
keep  half  of  them  in  the  china  closet ;  not  to  mention 
gift  books  in  Turkish  morocco  and  gilt,  highly  illus- 
trated, and  very  expensive ;  elaborate  and  costly  toys 
for  the  children,  including  gold  and  silver  rattles  for 
the  baby ;  until  from  pleased  surprise  she  passed  by 
regular  stages  to  a  state  of  feeling  akin  to  loathing. 
She  liked  "  useful  things."  If  they  were  pretty  as 
well  as  useful,  so  much  the  better ;  but  this  shower  of 
what  she  esteemed  baubles  dispirited  and  irked  her. 
Her  devotion  to  the  practical  equalled  the  reverent 
delight  with  which  her  spouse  bent  before  the  beauti- 
ful. 

And  all  the  while  the  money  was  taking  to  itself 
wings.  The  habit  of  painstaking  economy,  the  study 
and  planning,  the  sifting  of  "  must  haves  "  from  "  may 
wants"  was  closing  in  upon  her  again.  Yet  she  had 
thought  when  she  removed  to  this  place  to  cast  these 
behind  her  forever,  as  one  would  shake  off  a  protracted 
nightmare  from  which  she  had  just  escaped  with  her 
life.  She  was  beginning  to  supect  what  many  other 
clergymen's  wives  have  demonstrated  as  a  certainty, 
viz.,  that  large  salaries  invariably  bring  larger — and 
unavoidable — expenses  in  their  train.  They  must 
maintain  a  creditable  appearance  in  the  eye  of  the 
world.  The  interests  of  the  clerical  profession  and 
the  Aiken  church  demanded  it.  This  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Hayward's  cardinal  doctrines. 


42  Two. 

Before  it  went  down  the  brown  silk.  "  Which  was 
a  handsome  thing  in  its  day.  What  a  pity  brocades 
had  such  a  short  run !  I  haven't  seen  one  before  in 
five  years." 

Thus  Mrs.  Hayward :  The  children's  wardrobes  were 
"  quite  unsuitable  for  them  in  existing  circumstances. 
There  was  so  much  dress  in  Aiken  !  "  The  well-saved 
cottage  furniture,  which  had  been  Annie's  wedding 
gift  from  the  aunt  for  whom  she  was  named,  was  also 
condemned.  "  That  will  do  very  nicely  for  the  ser- 
vants' room,  my  dear.  It  is  good  policy  to  lodge  and 
feed  your  domestics  well,  and  the  set  is  really  ex- 
tremely neat." 

The  white  curtains  Annie  had  made  with,  her  own 
hands  for  the  spare  bed-room  in  her  former  abode 
were  "  entirely  out  of  date  here,  and  troublesome  on 
account  of  the  coal-dust  and  all  that,  you  know.  The 
country  is  so  much  cleaner." 

The  bed-quilts,  two  of  them  "  album  "  patch-work 
presented  by  the  ladies  and  children  of  their  late 
charge,  were  "just  the  thing  for  the  servants'  bed, 
and  you  can,  if  you  like,  put  one  under  the  Marseilles 
quilt  in  the  nursery.  It  will  keep  the  dust  off  the 
blankets." 

Annie  made  no  resistance.  George  had  bidden  her 
consult  Mrs.  Hayward  upon  all  doubtful  points,  and 
the  business  of  her  life  was  to  obey  and  please  him. 
She  knew  all  the  same  that  she  was  not  the  mistress 
of  her  own  house,  and  each  concession,  the  relinquish- 
ment  of  each  cherished  project,  gave  her  as  sharp  a 
pang  as  it  would  you  or  me,  dear  sister,  pride  ourselves 
upon  our  individuality  though  we  may.  In  place  of 


Two.  43 

the  old  familiar  articles  and  the  household  ways  she 
had  learned  with  care,  practised  with  satisfaction,  up- 
rose a  legion  of  "  Indispensables,"  hitherto  undreamed 
of,  which  she  yet  dared  not  dispute.  She  may  have 
been  the  clod  her  adviser  deemed  her,  but  the  stupid- 
est learn  fast  under  the  rod,  and  before  the  first  quar- 
ter's salary  became  due,  she  had  arrived  at  a  pretty 
fair  estimate  of  the  proportion  which  their  receipts 
were  to  bear  to  their  expenditures.  Her  sensibilities 
were  not  acute  perhaps,  yet  she  endured  absolute  tor- 
ture in  lifting  the  remembered  harness  and  buckling  it 
upon  her  reluctant  spirit.  In  her  agony  of  distaste  at 
the  return  to  bondage,  she  made  one  cry  in  the  ears 
of  him  whom  she  seldom  troubled  with  complaint,  with 
whom  she  had  long  ago  ceased  to  share  such  trials  as 
could  be  kept  from  his  knowledge. 

It  was  at  Christmas  time,  and  they  had  been  ten 
months  in  Aiken.  There  was  a  Sabbath-school  festi- 
val, with  a  loaded  "  tree  ;  "  distribution  of  prizes,  and 
much  speaking  at  the  children — that  inimitable  inven- 
tion of  some  modern  Herod  in  Howard's  clothing — an 
original  story  written  for  the  occasion  by  the  pastor, 
which  was  a  gem  in  its  way,  and  applauded  to  the 
echo  by  great  and  small — and  in  the  evening  a  mas- 
querade surprise  party,  a  delightful  novelty  at  the  par- 
sonage. Santa  Claus  led  in  a  band  of  elves,  decked 
with  holly  and  other  Christmas  "  greens,"  who  piled 
their  gifts  in  the  shape  of  a  pyramid  in  the  middle  of 
the  parlor  floor  ;  danced,  satyr-like,  about  it  to  a  merry 
Christmas  chorus,  chanted  as  they  moved,  and  retired 
without  unmasking.  Mr.  Sherman  pulled  the  inge- 
nious structure  to  pieces,  and  distributed  the  presents 


44  Two. 

in  obedience  to  the  labels  attached  to  each.  The 
children  were  enraptured,  the  father  as  hilarious  as 
any  of  them,  and  really  gratified  by  his  own  acquisi- 
tions, the  most  valuable  of  which  was  a  gold  watch 
and  chain.  Mrs.  Sherman's  effort  to  seem  pleased  was 
so  unsuccessful  as  to  call  forth  a  remark  which  was  a 
virtual  rebuke,  and  was  understood  as  such  by  the  rest 
as  well  as  herself. 

"  Mamma  is  not  as  happy  as  we  are  ;  has  a  touch 
of  the  doldrums,"  said  George,  winding  up  Willie's 
race  horse.  "  I  hoped  we  should  have  no  sober  faces 
on  this  blessed  Christmas  day ;  that  we  should  all  be 
able  to  '  drive  dull  care  away,'  for  a  few  hours,  at  least." 

The  wondering,  reproachful  eyes  turned  to  her 
from  the  innocent  faces  about  her  were  the  severest 
ordeal  to  which  he  could  at  that  instant  have  sub- 
jected Annie.  Let  us  hope  he  did  not  know  it.  She 
felt  each  as  a  poniard  thrust,  and,  like  the  blood  fol- 
lowing these,  came  the  recollection  that  she  could  not 
defend  herself  then  or  ever  from  the  unjust  suspicions 
engendered  in  her  children's  minds.  She  could  not 
tell  them  that  solicitude  for  their  welfare,  much  study 
of  their  interests  and  her  husband's,  many  and  press- 
ing fears  pertaining  to  present  and  future  embar- 
rassments, made  her  face  and  spirit  "sober."  All 
this  would  sadden  them,  and  sorrow  would  come  to 
them  soon  enough.  She  would  not  hasten  it  by  her 
selfish  repinings.  Moreover,  they  might  ask  why  she 
carried  the  whole  load  ;  why  papa  was  light-hearted 
and  she  burdened,  for  children  have  an  innate  sense 
of  justice  that  makes  them  swift  in  condemnation. 
She  was  sensitive  and  devoid  of  tact  or  address,  but 


Two. 


45 


she  would  have  bled  to  death  sooner  than  recriminate 
or  lower  the  father  a  thousandth  part  of  a  degree  in 
the  esteem  of  his  offspring. 

Oh,  the  silent  heroism  of  these  commonplace 
women,  who  are  slow  of  speech  and  heavy  of  visage, 
save  when,  perhaps  once  in  a  lifetime,  they  look  into 
our  eyes  with  a  dumb  piteousness  that  rives  our  souls 
and  startles  us  as  if  the  earth  had  caved  under  our 
feet  in  what  we  thought  was  a  sure  place,  as  if  the 
stone  had  cried  to  us  out  of  the  wall.  I  caught  such 
a  glance  the  other  day  from  a  neglected  wife  who  has 
neither  beauty,  nor  youth,  nor  wit  to  win  back  the 
truant  heart  she  has  striven  for  long,  patient  years  to 
hold,  and,  remembering  her  that  night  in  my  prayers 
for.  "  the  afflicted,  and  those  who  draw  unto  the 
grave,"  awful  words  were  whispered  into  the  ear  of 
my  spirit  in  reply  : — 

"When  He  maketh  inquisition  for  blood,  He  forgettetli 
not  the  cry  of  the  humble  !  " 

Annie  made  a  visible  attempt  to  drive  away  the 
black  brood  of  stinging  tormentors  who  would  not  let 
her  be  at  ease  even  on  Christmas  day. 

"  Mamma  is  a  little  tired  and  headachy  to-night," 
she  said.  "  She  is  not  as  young  as  she  used  to  be." 

"  Papa  was  born  last  week  and  -never  ate  a  Christmas 
feast  or  saw  Santa  Claus  until  to-night!"  retorted 
George,  gayly.  "  Clear  the  course  for  Dexter !  He  is 
wound  up  all  right.  There  he  goes!"  and  off  dashed 
the  spirited  courser  in  the  ring  left  by  the  excited 
children. 

Papa  did  not  play  with  them  every  day,  but  he  was 
the  jolliest  of  comrades  when  he  did  ;  much  livelier  than 


46  Two. 

poor  mamma,  who  "  hadn't  a  bit  of  fun  in  her,"  and 
was  too  busy  all  the  time  to  frolic  with  them.  They 
left  her  to  herself,  therefore,  without  the  most  distant 
imagination  of  the  sufferings  hidden  by  the  quiet  face 
that  watched  them. 

"  That  horse  cost  five  dollars,  at  least,"  said  poor, 
sore-hearted  Annie,  "  practical "  in  her  pain.  "  And 
Georgie's  wax  doll  must  have  been  twelve !  I  have 
not  three  dollars  in  the  world!  I  am  sure  George 
must  have  been  charged  fifty  for  the  engraving,  frame 
and  all,  he  gave  me  this  morning !  There  is  another 
bill  to  pay !  He  is  very  kind  and  generous,  but  if  he 
only  knew  how  little  I  enjoy  such  things  when  we 
need  every  cent  of  our  salary  for  family  expenses. 
How  shall  we  get  along  until  quarter-day — a  month 
and  a  week  off  ?  " 

It  is  by  nursing  such  unhealthy  thoughts  as  these 
that  ministers'  wives  become  contracted  in  ideas, 
mercenary  in  purpose. 

When  the  children  were  in  bed  this  one  of  the 
sordid  creatures  made  the  outcry  to  which  I  have  re- 
ferred. 

"George,"  she  said,  with  a  low-spirited,  babyish 
tremor  in  her  voice,  "  I  am  sorry  I  cast  a  shadow  over 
your  spirits  or  the  children's  to-night.  But  I  had  a 
cause  for  my  grave  looks.  Large  as  our  income  seems, 
it  does  not  meet  our  expenses,  and  I  couldn't  help 
wishing  that  our  kind  friends  had  given  us  the  money 
all  these  beautiful  things  cost.  It  would  have  been  a 
real  help  to  us  just  now.  Or  that  they  had  sent  in 
something  really  useful.  For  instance,  I  would  rather 
have  had  a  barrel  of  flour  and  a  tub  of  butter  than 


Two.  47 

this  mantel  clock,  which  I  don't  need  in  the  least,  and 
must  have  cost  twice  as  much  as  they  would." 

I  believe  I  have  said  elsewhere  that  George  Sherman 
was  never  wittingly  unkind  or  rough  in  word  or  deed 
to  the  wife  he  knew  his  inferior.  But  his  quiet  sneer 
hurt  her  now  more  than  downright  harshness  would 
have  done. 

"Judged  by  your  rule,  this  world  should  be  a  vast 
grocery  and  provision  store.  You  must  bear  in  mind 
that  there  are  varieties  of  taste  even  in  the  same  family. 
I  regret  exceedingly  however  that  yours  were  not  more 
correctly  divined  on  this  occasion.  You  are  at  liberty  to 
carry  your  utilitarian  principles  into  action  and  barter 
the  trumpery  you  do  not  value  for  solid,  sensible  bread 
and  butter.  As  you  say,  that  clock,  which  is,  I  know, 
a  present  from  Mrs.  Hayward  and  her  sister,  must  be 
valuable.  The  bronze  figures  upon  it — the  Muse  of 
History  watching  the  motions  of  Time — are  remark- 
ably fine.  An  auction  sale  of  your  Christmas  gifts 
would  replenish  your  larder  abundantly  —  give  you 
pocket  money  for  six  months  to  come." 

Annie,  recalling  his  words  and  look  five  years  after- 
ward, as  she  sat  alone  in  the  twilight  of  that  windy 
April  afternoon,  casting  up  endless  and  unsatisfactory 
accounts  in  her  aching  head,  felt  again  the  positive 
physical  constriction  of  heart  and  lungs  that  almost 
suffocated  her  then ;  the  uprising  of  her  loyal  soul 
against  insult  and  wrong  done  her  by  him  who  should 
have  sheltered  her  from  both.  She  had  never  given 
words  to  the  protest ;  had  tried  to  forget  the  occur- 
rence. George  had  "  always  been  careless  about  mo- 
ney." Besieged  by  the  temptations  of  the  city  it  was 


48  Two. 

not  strange  that  he  grew  reckles?.  His  love  for  the 
aesthetic  was  mounting,  or  degenerating,  into  a  pas- 
sion ;  his  desire  to  possess  and  enjoy  the  books  from 
which  he  had  been  shut  out  by  his  secluded  position 
and  straitened  means  threatened  to  become  inordinate. 
He  sought  out  and  bought  good  pictures ;  he  would 
have  the  finest  library  editions  of  his  favorite  authors, 
let  them  cost  what  they  might.  These  were  a  sub- 
stantial investment,  he  told  himself  and  his  friends — 
riches  in  which  his  children  would  revel  when  he  had 
passed  into  the  Land  where  all  was  Beauty.  His  wife 
might  exhaust  the  powers  of  her  intellect  in  remodel- 
ling last  year's  garments  and  saving  candle  ends.  He 
fed  his  by  his  royal  lavishness  of  the  lucre  which  was 
only  made  filthy  by  hoarding.  He  made  a  telling 
point  in  a  charity  sermon  by  comparing  such  heaping 
up  of  wealth  to  the  manna  which  the  economical,  long- 
sighted Hebrew  stored  in  his  vessel  until  the  morrow, 
when  he  found  it  alive  with  corruption. 

He  was  too  manly  ever  to  become  a  petit  maltre,  but 
he  cultivated  his  naturally  refined  tastes  into  fastidi- 
ousness. The  appointments  of  his  study  were  irre- 
proachable— perfect  in  general  effect  and  in  detail. 

"  A  rare  poem  !  visible  music !  "  Mrs.  Hayward 
said,  softly,  one  day,  entering  while  he  lounged  in  his 
reading  chair  and  read  Euripides  in  the  sunshine.  It 
was  right — only  just  that  this  should  be.  Else  how 
could  fair  fancies  and  exalted  conceptions  visit  him 
freely?  There  were  subtle  harmonies  of  sense  and 
soul  which  must  be  consulted  if  one  would  attain  his 
highest  development,  mentally  or  spiritually.  The 
room  in  which  he  studied  and  wrote  was  bright  in 


Two.  49 

winter,  shaded  in  summer,  always  luxurious,  although 
simple  enough  to  the  casual  eye.  It  was  kept  at  an 
even  temperature,  that  no  extreme  of  heat  and  cold 
should  remind  him,  at  inopportune  seasons,  of  his  cor- 
poreal existence  when  he  would  be  all  mind  and  spirit. 
There  was  a  fernery  in  the  brightest  window,  and  rus- 
tic stands  of  flowers,  often  renewed,  filled  the  air  with 
delicate  fragrance. 

These  were  not  personal  luxuries,  but  appliances  of 
his  art,  as  were  the  paintings,  the  two  or  three  statues 
and  the  shelves  of  superbly  bound  books  in  the  adjoin- 
ing library.  In  preparing  the  lectures  and  sermons  he 
meant  to  deliver  without  notes,  it  was  his  habit  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  two  rooms,  his 
head  bent,  and  hands  behind  him,  with  half-closed 
eyes,  murmuring  to  himself  in  a  sort  of  trance — a  clair- 
voyant state,  upon  which  no  footstep  or  voice  might 
break,  unless  the  intruder's  errand  were  one  of  life  or 
death. 

"  The  apartments  seem  to  me  like  holy  ground  while 
I  catch  the  sound  of  his  communing  with  higher  intel- 
ligences," said  Mrs.  Hayward  once  to  Annie. 

"  I  never  go  in,  except  to  sweep  and  dust  when  he 
is  out,"  rejoined  Annie,  in  her  simplicity.  "  He  can't 
bear  to  have  the  chambermaid  touch  a  thing  of  his. 
But  I  am  very  particular." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  Mrs.  Hayward  answered, 
patronizingly.  "  It  is  an  inestimable  privilege  to 
minister  even  to  the  temporal  wants  of  such  a  man." 

There  was  no  retreat  in  the  whole  house  for  "  Mam- 
ma's "  spirit  or  body,  not  so  much  as  a  closet  which 
she  could  call  her  own,  in  which  she  could  sit  her 
3 


50  Two. 

down  in  quiet,  secure  of  ten  minutes  for  Bible  reading 
and  devotion.  She  said  her  prayers  generally  while 
nursing  the  baby ;  and  when  the  last  one  was  weaned 
lifted  up  her  heart  to  Him  who  knew  her  infirmities 
and  was  acquainted  with  her  griefs,  as  she  could  catch 
a  moment's  breathing  space.  A  favorite  season  for 
her  meditations  and  silent  supplications  was  while 
mending  the  children's  clothes  after  midnight  had  set 
the  seal  of  soundest  sleep  upon  other  eyes.  She  did 
not  quite  comprehend  her  husband's  fervent  petitions 
from  the  pulpit  in  the  hearing  of  the  hundreds  who 
hung  breathless  upon  his  lips ;  breathings  after  wider, 
deeper,  richer  Christian  experience  and  the  higher 
life ;  felt  ignorant  and  dwarfish  and  wretched  as  she 
listened  to  these  and  his  stirring  exhortations  to  his 
hearers  to  live  above  the  world  ;  to  spurn  the  fetters 
of  earthly  desire  and  earthly  cares ;  to  keep  their 
minds  calm  and  free,  ever  receptive  to  the  influences 
of  the  Infinite  Thought  of  which  the  human  intellect 
was  a  part. 

But  then  there  was  so  little  Annie  did  understand 
beyond  housekeeping,  and  sewing,  and  baby-tending ! 
She  had  not  an  idea  of  what  was  meant  by  the  divinity 
of  humanity,  or  the  pre-Adamic  period,  or  the  Arian 
or  Pelagian  heresy.  She  had  a  shadowy  fancy  that 
Origen  had  something  to  do  with  original  sin,  and  that 
the  same  firm  manufactured  the  Elgin  marbles  and 
Elgin  watches.  But  she  did  not  pretend  to  know  the 
difference  between  Tractarianism  and  Antinomianism, 
or  what  Doctor  Pusey  believed  and  Bishop  Colenso 
did  not.  She  read  next  to  nothing  except  the  nice 
little  books  her  children  brought  home  from  the  Sun- 


Two.  ,j  r 


day-school  library.  While  Mrs.  Hayward  read  every- 
thing, remembered  all  she  read  and  heard  and  could 
talk  so  well  of  what  she  knew  that  even  George  con 
fessed  he  sometimes  gained  new  views  of  truth  in  his 
conversations  with  her.  A  wonderful  woman  was  Mrs. 
Hayward  !  In  her  humility,  Annie  never  thought  of 
questioning  this.  It  was  very  kind  and  disinterested 
in  her  to  take  her  (Annie)  everywhere  in  her  carriage ; 
to  pilot  her  through  shops  and  dressmaking  establish- 
ments ;  to  prescribe  to  her  what  should  be  eaten, 
drunk  and  worn  at  the  parsonage.  If  her  income 
equalled  that  of  her  chaperon,  she  might  enjoy  pur- 
chasing and  ordering  as  much  as  she  did.  If  her 
talents  and  education  were  more  nearly  equal  to  hers, 
she  would  take  more  pleasure  in  their  intercourse. 
Oddly  enough,  there  floated  into  her  memory  in  this 
connection  a  text  George  had  read  that  morning  at 
prayers : — 

"  Whether  he  be  able  with  ten  thousand  to  meet 
him  that  cometh  against  him  with  twenty  thousand  ?" 

George  would  have  laughed  at  this  violent  wresting 
of  Scripture,  but  there  was  no  danger  of  his  knowing 
of  it.  She  had  long  ago  ceased  to  talk  to  him  of  such 
trifles  as  her  private  and  individual  religious  experi- 
ences. 


PART  III. 

IT  was  strange,  said  the  Aiken  gossips, — even  the 
more  charitable  among  them, — that  Mrs.  Sherman  did 
not  dress  herself  and  children  more  handsomely ; 
allowed  the  tokens  of  painstaking  economy  to  be  pal- 
pable in  turned  silks  and  made-over  woolens  and  in 
dozens  of  other  ways.  Her  husband's  salary  was  large 
and  he  generous  to  a  fault.  She  was  either  deficient 
in  taste,  a  bad  manager,  indolent,  or  stingy — a  four- 
horned  dilemma,  any  one  prong  of  which  would  have 
pierced  a  sensitive  woman  through  and  through. 

Mrs.  Sherman  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  her 
shortcomings  or  to  be  moved  by  adverse  criticism. 
But  what  she  thought  and  felt  was  a  matter  of  con- 
jecture altogether;  she  had  no  confidante  with  whom 
she  could  discuss  her  peculiar  trials,  who  would  ap- 
plaud her  conscientious  effort  to  do  her  duty  in  her 
home  and  sympathize  with  her  sufferings  under  the 
non-appreciation  of  him  whom  she  sought  to  please. 

"  No  doubt,  my  dear,  there  are,  as  your  cousin  says, 
many  points  of  sympathy  between  us,"  sighs  the 
caustic  Riccabocca,  of  "  My  Novel,"  to  his  Jemima, 
"  even  when  I  am  thinking  of  feelings  and  you  of — 
trowsers." 

Bulwer  has  told  the  learned  doctor's  story  for  him. 
What  Jemima  thought  and  suffered  under  his  failure 
52. 


Two.  53 

to  enter  into  her  views  and  feelings  was  deemed  a 
matter  of  no  consequence.  Yet  there  are  two  sides  to 
this  as  to  other  questions.  Who  does  not  read  with  a 
heartache  how  silly  Dora  begged  with  tears  the  privi- 
lege of  holding  the  fresh  pens  while  her  author-husband 
wrote  the  books  which  were  to  make  him  immortal  ? 
Of  her  request  that  he  would  always  think  of  and 
speak  to  her  as  his  "  child-wife?"  How,  as  she  lay 
dying  in  his  arms — pale,  blighted  "  Little  Blossom  " — 
she  said:  "  I  know  I  was  too  young  and  foolish  ;  it  is 
much  better  as  it  is  ?  "  To  some  is  granted  the  gift 
of  pathetic  lamentation.  It  is  the  heart  which  has  no 
outlet  of  expression  that  breaks.  Wives  have  ere  this 
accepted  the  post  of  mere  housekeepers  and  general 
managers  and  the  treatment  due  to  the  situation  in 
the  houses  where  they  should  have  reigned  beloved 
and  honored  queens  ;  ceased  to  entreat  or  to  expect 
the  full  measure  of  love  which  is  as  truly  their  rightful 
portion  as  the  wages  of  the  faithful  hireling  belong  to 
himself ;  have  resigned  all  this  and  lived  on,  making 
no  plaint  in  the  ears  of  the  world  to  which  they  are 
conscious  their  humiliation  is  well  known.  They  are 
not  usually  interesting  objects  in  society,  I  own ;  but 
neither  are  girdled  trees  attractive  features  in  a  land- 
scape. 

Everybody  pities  the  man  of  genius  who  is  bound 
to  an  unintellectual  partner, — especially  the  common- 
place creature's  fellow-women.  Each  of  the  compas- 
sionate beings  seems  to  feel  that  her  mission  is  to  help 
fill  the  empty  heart,  to  satisfy  the  thirsting  spirit. 

Dear  sisters  !  women  all  and  would-be  consolers ! 
bear  with  me  while  I  say  that  I  have  not  an  atom  of 


54  Two. 

patience  with  this  rose-water,  cold  cream,  and  magic 
salve  philosophy.  Listen  without  scorn  while  I 
express  the  decided  convictions  of  a  practical  mortal 
who  has  lived  in  this  world  of  shams  and  self-deceit 
more  years  than  she  cares  to  count  over  to  herself  or 
confess  to  others,  and  has  kept  her  eyes  well  open  all 
the  while.  Your  man  of  genius — be  he  John  Milton 
married  to  Mary  Powell,  or  Shakspeare  to  Anne 
Hathaway,  Burns  to  Jean  Armour,  or  Byron  to  Miss 
Millbanke — can  get  along  excellently  well  without  any 
or  all  of  you.  The  fact  is  not  complimentary  to  our  sex, 
but  it  is  wholesome.  Love  to  a  woman  is  like  wings 
to  the  butterfly ;  it  means  life,  liberty,  beauty.  To  a 
man  it  is  also  wings,  but  such  as  the  grasshopper  car- 
ries folded  under  the  skirt  of  his  close-bodied  coat — 
used  for  a  short  flight,  convenient  at  times,  always 
pretty ;  silky,  gossamer  appendages  he  delights  to 
spread  in  sunny  weather  as  he  skims  the  meadow  with 
his  mates — a  rollicking  cricket  club.  But  the  business 
of  his  existence  is  upon  the  ground  ;  he  makes  his 
living  by  means  of  his  homely  legs,  and  forgets  for 
hours  at  a  time  that  he  has  any  wings  at  all. 

Mr.  Sherman's  lady  parishioners  were  not  vainer  or 
more  susceptible  than  the  majority  of  their  kind  ;  but 
in  proportion  to  their  admiration  for  their  pastor  and 
their  low  estimate  of  his  spouse's  qualifications  for  the 
exalted  station  to  which  her  marriage  had  raised  her 
was  their  desire  to  make  good  her  deficiencies.  Her 
they  patronized  in  a  civil  way  and  ignored  in  all  active 
public  movements.  To  outsiders  they  deplored  that 
Mrs.  Sherman  was  reserved  and  taciturn  to  strangers 
and  undemonstrative  to  her  best  friends;  in  short, 


Two.  55 

that  her  manners  were  the  reverse  of  popular — "  such 
a  contrast  "  to  the  polish  and  engaging  frankness  of 
her  husband's.  These  strictures  were  made  with  in- 
dignant pity — not  for  the  cruel  embarrassment  of  her 
who  had  been  beguiled  into  a  position  where  she  could 
not  but  be  extremely  uncomfortable,  if  not  miserable, 
by  yielding  to  the  passionate  suit  of  the  man  she 
loved  and  who  vowed  that  he  loved  her — but  for  him 
who  had  brought  about  this  reprehensible  state  of 
affairs.  Gradually  people  fell  into  the  habit  of  invit- 
ing Mr.  Sherman  to  dinner  and  evening  parties,  to 
excursions  by  carriage,  boat,  and  rail  without  his  wife. 
He  was  the  soul  of  every  company,  however  gay  or 
select ;  she,  "  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it,"  was 
a  clod. 

George  would  have  apologized  for  the  apparent 
neglect  the  first  time  this  happened — he  even  re- 
volved in  his  magnanimous  mind  the  expediency  of 
declining  to  go ;  but,  seeing  that  Annie  did  not  notice 
the  slight,  and  hearkening  to  her  earnest  hope  that  he 
would  enjoy  the  fete,  he  changed  his  mind,  treated  the 
form  of  the  invitation  as  a  matter  of  course,  gave  him- 
self up  to  his  friends,  and  found  the  absence  of  his 
much-lesser  half  no  drawback  to  his  pleasure.  The 
omission  ceased  to  be  a  novelty  by-and-by.  At  last 
the  appearance  of  husband  and  wife  abroad  together 
excited  general  remark. 

This  was  the  phase  of  their  so-called  joint  existence 
when  Annie  was  mightily  strengthened  and  cheered  by 
a  visit  from  a  sister  whom  she  had  not  seen  since  her 
marriage.  Mrs.  Davenport,  although  two  years  the 
senior  of  Mrs.  Sherman,  looked  younger  by  ten.  She 


$6  Two. 

was  the  wife  of  a  successful  merchant  and  a  person  of 
note  in  her  circle  for  sprightliness  and  fashion.  Her 
appearance  in  Aiken  created  a  sensation  in  cliques 
where  her  sister  was  accounted  a  nobody.  She  was 
deluged  with  calls,  and  plied  flatteringly  with  invi- 
tations. Mrs.  Hayward  gave  her  the  first  party. 

"  It  has  been  such  an  age  since  I  attended  a  large 
evening  assembly  that  I  shall  hardly  know  how  to  be- 
have," remarked  Annie  as  the  two  sisters  sat  in  her 
room  that  afternoon. 

"So  long!"  said  Mrs.  Davenport,  in  surprise. 
"  Several  of  your  ladies  have  told  me  of  the  very  gay 
winter  you  have  had  in  Aiken  ;  spoken  of  the  town  as 
always  lively  and  the  people  social." 

"  That  is  true,  but  I  have  become  an  inveterate 
stay-at-home,"  returned  the  other  between  a  smile  and 
a  sigh.  "There  is  a  habit  in  these  things,  you  know. 
One  loses  her  fondness  for  general  society  after  she 
has  fallen  into  the  way  of  declining  invitations,  and  as 
the  cares  of  life  accumulate  they  repress  her  desire  to 
go  abroad  for  amusement." 

"One  loses  her  vitality  of  thought,  and  often  of 
body,  if  she  sits  still  at  home  and  lets  her  cares  strangle 
her,"  responded  Mrs.  Davenport,  emphatically.  "  It 
is  especially  the  duty  of  the  public  man's  wife  to  keep 
herself  up  in  feeling  and  manner,  while  for  her  chil- 
dren's sake  she  should  not  become  antiquated  in  ideas 
or  apparel.  Rely  upon  it,  Annie,  your  girls  will  lose 
some  portion  of  their  respect  for  you,  if  you  lag  be- 
hind the  age  in  which  you  live.  Instead  of  remaining 
their  standard  and  arbiter  in  matters  of  dress, 
etiquette,  and  the  like,  you  will  degenerate  into  '  only 


Two. 


57 


mother,  who  thinks  the  world  has  stood  still  these 
thirty  years.'  This  sounds  like  very  worldly  advice, 
but  the  children  of  this  generation  are  wise.  Nor  do 
men  like  to  see  their  wives  grow  old  and  dowdyish. 
It  may  be  true  that  a  good  man's  love  once  won,  is 
won  forever,  but  the  rule  does  not  hold  always  with 
his  fancy.  Excuse  my  plainness  of  speech,  dear,  but  I 
do  not  believe  it  is  to  please  George  that  you  with- 
draw yourself  from  the  scenes  he  enjoys  with  the  zest 
of  a  college-boy,  or  that  you  dress  so  soberly — as  if  you 
descried  temptation  in  a  flounce,  and  lurking  evil  in  a 
flowing  ribbon.  No  wife,  however  fondly  loved,  can 
afford  to  despise  the  attractive  adornments  of  person 
that  commend  her  as  a  pleasing  object  to  the  eye  of 
him  whom  she  loves.  It  is  by  these  and  other  womanly 
arts — all  innocent  and  commendable — that  one  retains 
the  lover  in  the  husband.  I  am  reading  you  a  formid- 
able lecture — am  I  not?"  she  interrupted  herself  to 
say,  lightly.  "Annie,  dear  child,  are  you  crying?  I 
did  not  mean  to  wound  you.  With  whom  can  we  be 
frank  if  not  with  one  another?" 

It  was  impossible  to  check  by  a  single  effort  the 
long  pent-up  tide  of  feeling.  But  Annie  cast  herself 
beside  her  sister,  hid  her  face  in  her  lap  and  held  her 
close,  to  show  that  her  emotion  had  in  it  no  strain  of 
resentment. 

"  It  has  been  so  long,"  she  said,  when  she  could 
trust  her  voice ;  "  such  a  weary  darksome  while  since 
I  have  had  any  one  talking  to  me  as  if  it  made  any 
difference  what  I  did,  or  how  I  looked,  that  the  kind- 
ness overcame  me.  George  is  goodness  itself,  but 
men  don't  understand  women  as  well  as  they  do  each 
3* 


58  Two. 

other — as  well  as  you  do  me,  for  instance.  Then,  he 
knows  nothing  about  ladies'  dresses;  never  notices 
what  I  wear,  or  cares  whether  I  go  out  or  stay  at 
home.  '  Do  as  you  please,  my  dear,'  he  says,  when  I 
appeal  to  him  about  anything  that  concerns  me  or 
my  movements.  He  is  so  engrossed  in  his  profession, 
you  see,  that  these  are  trifles  not  worth  his  consid- 
eration. As  to  'keeping  myself  up' — that  takes 
money  and  time,  and  both  are  scarce  with  me.  Our 
expenses  are  terribly  heavy,  economize  as  I  will.  I 
have  to  think  twice  before  I  buy  a  pair  of  new  shoes 
wheii  the  old  ones  are  so  shabby  I  have  to  keep  them 
tucked  well  under  my  skirts  when  others  are  by. 
Flounces  and  ribbons  are  costly,  and  I  should  lose 
hours  from  the  plain  sewing  I  cannot  afford  to  put  out 
to  a  seamstress,  if  I  bedecked  myself  with  them.  I 
cannot  speak  of  these  troubles  to  anybody  but  you.  I 
suspect  the  people  think  me  mean,  as  well  as  old- 
fashioned,  but  I  must  bear  it.  I  will  not  beg  for 
money  by  telling  how  often  and  seriously  I  am 
cramped  for  it." 

"  George  has  some  extravagant  tastes  that  should 
be  curbed,"  said  the  plain-spoken  counselor.  "  It 
must  make  a  formidable  hole  in  his  salary  to  buy  such 
books  and  pictures  as  he  has  collected.  His  bronzes 
and  cameos  are  a  small  fortune  in  themselves." 

"  He  has  so  few  personal  luxuries,"  pleaded  the 
loyal  little  woman,  coloring  at  the  implied  censure  of 
her  idol.  "  You  know  that  he  does  not  use  tobacco 
in  any  form  and  is  very  temperate  in  eating  and 
drinking.  His  statuary  and  pictures  are  a  great  help 
in  his  studies.  His  books  are  his  tools." 


Two.  59 

"  The  contents  of  them  are,  undoubtedly — but  not 
the  bindings.  I  know  something  about  the  cost  of 
libraries.  He  has  perfect  taste  in  such  things ;  that 
cannot  be  questioned.  But,  for  all  that,  his  prudent 
little  wife  should  not  suffer  for  want  of  shoes  that  his 
printed  darlings  may  be  sumptuously  clad.  You 
should  have  the  independence  to  set  the  case  fairly 
before  him,  Annie." 

"  I  could  not ! "  Annie  shrank  into  her  dismayed 
self  at  the  suggestion.  "  You  do  not  understand  how 
disagreeable  to  him  is  every  mention  of  business  de- 
tails. He  doesn't  know  the  difference  between  the 
value  of  one  dollar  and  twenty." 

"  He  contrives,  nevertheless,  to  spend  twenty  to 
your  one,"  interpolated  the  audacious  sister-in-law. 

Annie  feigned  not  to  hear  her. 

"  All  talk  about  accounts  and  expenditures  disgusts 
him,"  she  pursued.  "  This  is  apt  to  be  the  case  with 
highly-gifted  men,  I  believe.  It  is  difficult  to  bring 
them  down  to  the  level  of  common  things  and  sordid 
cares." 

Mrs.  Davenport  was  ready  with  another  saucy  in- 
terruption. "  That  is  a  very  correct  quotation  from 
Mrs.  Hayward." 

"  It  is  a  true  saying,"  insisted  Annie  who  was 
obliged  to  smite  at  her  tone  and  manner.  "  Seriously, 
Janette,  when  you  look  impartially  at  the  matter,  it  is 
but  right  that  the  discharge  of  such  duties  as  purchas- 
ing household  stores,  paying  bills,  etc.,  should  devolve 
upon  me.  It  is  the  only  way  in  which  I  can  really  help 
him.  You  must  see  " — her  blush  deepening  painfully 
— "that  mentally  I  am  no  companion  for  him.  He 


60  Two. 

has  never  breathed  it — for  he  is  the  soul  of  delicacy 
and  kindness — but  I  know  I  have  disappointed  his 
expectations  in  other  respects.  I  am  so  dull — such  a 
fool  about  books  and  solid  reading  and  all  that.  I  did 
try  to  cultivate  my  mind,  to  grow  worthier  of  him  ; 
but  study  is  fearful  drudgery  when  one  is  tired  out  by 
a  hard  day's  work  in  the  kitchen  or  puzzled  out  of  her 
wits  by  plans  for  the  morrow.  My  brain  wouldn't 
work,  and  as  George  didn't  seem  to  care,  I  gave  it  up. 
He  doesn't  dream  how  badly  I  feel  about  all  thjs," 
she  continued,  with  feverish  rapidity.  "  I  believe  he 
imagines  that  I  never  think  of  it — that  I  am  content 
to  sit  still  and  stupid,  and  see  him  growing  away 
from  me,  as  an  oak  does  from  the  dock-weed  at  its 
root.  I  do  not  want  him  to  guess  it  for  it  cannot  be 
helped,  and  it  is  his  nature  and  duty  to  grow  as  tall 
and  broad  as  he  can.  I  never  see  the  multitudes 
that  flock  to  hear  him  without  thinking  of  the  text, 
'  Sitting  in  his  shadow  with  great  delight.'  " 

"  He  is  developing  magnificently,"  assented  Mrs. 
Davenport,  thoughtfully,  studying  her  sister's  flushed 
face,  while  she  stroked  the  hardened  hand  she  held, 
caressed  the  small  forefinger  made  callous  by  needle- 
pricks.  "  You  are  not  a  woman  of  decided  literary 
tastes,  dear.  You  would  never  have  these,  were  you 
to  study  fourteen  hours  per  diem,  for  fourteen  years 
to  come.  But  harmony  of  intellectual  likings  does  not 
make  up  the  sum  total  of  domestic  happiness.  Two 
peas  of  exactly  the  same  shape  would  not  fit  well  to- 
gether in  the  pod.  And  y9u  are  far,  very  far  from 
being  a  simpleton,  or  dull.  You  are,  I  dare  assert,  a 
better  arithmetician  than  is  your  elegant  husband, 


Two.  6 1 

and  have  as  much  executive  ability  in  your  province 
as  he  has  in  his.  You  are  certainly  an  able  financier, 
and  the  most  energetic  woman,  in  your  quiet  way,  I 
ever  saw.  All  your  ways  are  quiet  and  superficial  ob- 
servers may  be  deceived  by  your  want  of  pretension 
into  an  incorrect  valuation  of  your  worth.  As  to 
George's  disappointment  in  you,  he  knew  what  he  was 
about  when  he  married  you.  If  he  has  half  as  much 
common  sense  as  his  wife  has  he  sees  what  you  really 
are  now.  Finally  " — kissing  her  affectionately — "  I 
mean  to  dress  you  according  to  my  whim  to-night; 
get  up  a  surprise  for  him." 

She  did  her  best.  Annie  was  made  ready  in  her 
sister's  dressing-room  and  the  two  went  down  to  the 
parlor  together,  to  enjoy  George's  pleased  astonish, 
ment.  He  was  a  little  late  as  was  his  wont — and 
entered  hurriedly  when  they  had  waited  half  an  hour 
for  his  appearance. 

"Ready,  are  you?"  he  said,  carelessly.  "Annie,  I 
have  pulled  the  button  off  my  glove.  Just  sew  it  on 
— won't  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Davenport  watched  him  while  his  wife  drew 
near  the  drop-light  to  perform  his  behest.  He  did  not 
give  her  a  second  glance,  although  her  gray  silk  was 
made  elegant  by  a  black  lace  shawl  looped  into  an 
overskirt ;  her  sleeves  and  collar  were  point  lace ;  her 
hair  tastefully  arranged  with  a  cluster  of  pink  rose- 
buds, and  lilies  of  the  valley  set  above  the  left  temple, 
and  another  of  the  same  was  fastened  by  her  pearl 
brooch.  She  looked  pretty,  ladylike,  almost  girlish. 
Mrs.  Davenport,  in  her  chagrin,  longed  to  box  the 
unobservant  husband's  ears. 


62  Two. 

"You  hav'n't  told  us  what  you  think  of  your  new 
wife,"  she  was  compelled  to  say,  at  last. 

"  Eh  ! "  bewildered.  "  I  do  not  comprehend  !  "  stop- 
ping in  his  promenade  over  the  parlor  carpet* 

"You  have  not  praised  Annie's  toilette,"  she  con- 
tinued, more  and  more  provoked. 

"  I  had  not  noticed  it.  I  see,  now,  that  she  has  on  a 
new  gown.  Am  I  right  ?  Tell  me  what  I  ought  to  say, 
and  I  will  obey  orders,"  seeing  her  vexation  and 
Annie's  blushes.  "  I  am  a  wretched  ignoramus  in  the 
matter  of  ladies'  apparel,  but  mean  well." 

The  disappointed  amateur  Abigail  had  not  the 
patience  to  continue  the  subject.  If  the  party  had 
not  been  spoiled  for  her  by  the  prelude,  a  remark  she 
overhead  from  a  lady  who  did  not  know  her  by  sight 
would  have  done  this  effectually. 

"  Mrs.  Sherman  really  looks  like  other  people  to- 
night," said  some  one  to  the  captious  critic. 

"  Humph  !  More  like  a  dress-maker's  dummy;  not 
quite  so  graceful,  for  she  is  evidently  unaccustomed  to 
being  well  dressed.  And  as  for  conversation,  she  hasn't 
an  idea  upon  any  subject  higher  than  servants,  chil- 
dren, and  marketing." 

With  a  sharper  pang  than  she  would  have  owned, 
even  to  herself,  Mrs.  Davenport  recognized  the  truth 
that  the  habits  of  years  were  not  to  be  overcome  by 
one  hour's  lecturing  and  one  evening's  drill  and 
society  tactics.  Recognizing  it,  she  grew  savage  to- 
ward her  brilliant  brother-in-law.  Annie  might  have 
been  moulded  into  external  comeliness  had  he  ap- 
preciated her  sterling  qualities  and  her  capabilities, 
instead  of  seeking  to  shape  mind  and  tastes  in  con- 


Two.  63 

formity  to  a  pattern  of  his  own  devising.  As  it  was, 
he  had  let  her  drop  out  of  his  calculations  of  future 
effort  and  attainment;  made  her  an  "incidental"  instead 
of  an  essential  in  his  life.  Janette's  benevolent  mission 
had  been  undertaken  too  late.  She  could  love  and 
sympathize  with  her  sister ;  stay  her  courage  with  com- 
forting and  hopeful  words,  and  leave  her  to  her  lonely 
walk,  trusting  that  in  time  her  children  would  do  her 
the  justice  her  husband  and  his  world  had  denied  her. 

She  made  one  effort  to  recall  George's  heart,  and 
prick  his  conscience. 

"  Don't  you  think  Annie  is  looking  badly  ? "  she 
asked,  one  evening,  as  they  talked  apart,  and  Annie 
sat  with  her  work-basket  under  the  shaded  gas  burner, 
hearing  her  third  child  read  over  his  next  day's  les- 
son. "  She  was  very  pretty  in  her  girlhood — the  belle 
of  our  family.  She  is  lovely  still,  for  her  soul  speaks 
in  her  eyes,  her  sweet  temper  in  her  smile,  but  it  sad- 
dens me  to  see  her  prematurely  grave  and  faded. 
You  must  watch  her,  George,  and  compel  her  to  take 
care  of  herself.  Her  thought  is  only  for  others.  As 
for  you,  ungrateful  creature,  she  kisses  your  footsteps 
in  spirit.  I  must  tell  you  something  touching  and 
beautiful  she  said  about  you,  the  other  day."  And 
she  repeated  Annie's  simile  of  the  oak  and  dock-weed. 
"  A  man  incurs  a  serious  yet  sweet  responsibility  who 
inspires  such  love  in  the  breast  of  a  true,  pure  woman 
like  our  Annie.  I  have  heard  of  wives  who  have  won 
a  place  in  the  world's  record  of  distinguished  women 
by  going  to  scaffold  and  stake  with  their  husbands. 
She  would  die  in  your  stead  by  axe  or  faggot,  and 
account  it  great  honor." 


64  Two. 

George  tried  to  laugh  at  her  earnestness. 
"  Why  do  you  call  me  ungrateful  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  judge  you  by  what  I  know  of  your  sex  in  gen- 
eral.    There  are  few  who  do  not  give  to 


"  '  Dust  a  little  gilt, 
More  praise  than  gold  o'erdusted.' 

I  wonder  sometimes  whether  you  are  an  exception  to 
the  majority.  You  might  easily  have  married  a  more 
showy  girl ;  one  who  would  shine  as  the  mistress  of 
your  house  and  do  credit  to  your  taste.  It  is  odd 
that  you  did  not,  for  you  have  an  eye  for  a  fine 
woman.  Such  a  wife  would  have  been  a  gorgeous 
ruby  in  your  crown  of  manhood ;  and  you  could  have 
displayed  her  with  royal  pride  as  Ahasuerus  would 
have  showed  Vashti  to  his  courtiers.  But  your  Esther, 
modest  as  a  wood-violet,  with  a  heart  as  strong  and 
clear  as  crystal,  is  above  rubies  in  value." 

"  Who  would  think  of  my  prosaic  Annie  as  the  in- 
spiration of  so  many  poetical  images  ?  "  said  George, 
with  affected  lightness  ;  "  when  she — poor,  dear  soul ! — 
does  not  know  a  trope  from  a  syllogism  !  " 

"  She  is  none  the  worse  wife  for  Mr.  George  Sher- 
man on  that  account,"  was  the  stout  rejoinder.  "  If 
the  ideal, not  the  practical,  were  her  forte  he  would  be 
less  comfortable  and  much  poorer.  Some  make  the 
fatal  mistake — when  those  judged  are  their  life-long 
companions — of  believing  that  lack  of  brilliancy  of 
thought  and  felicity  of  expression  presupposes  an 
insensitive  nature  and  a  shallow  heart.  Annie  is 
keenly  alive  to  your  dissimilarities ;  and  in  the  light 


Two.  65 

of  her  reverent  appreciation  of  your  talents  and  fame, 
her  humility  is  likely  to  become  morbid." 

She  changed  the  subject  at  that  point,  fondly  be- 
lieving that  she  read  in  her  listener's  softer  eye  and 
meditative  aspect  the  proof  that  the  hint  was  not 
dropped  in  vain. 

George  was  very  kind  to  his  lonely  little  wife  for 
some  days  after  her  sister's  departure.  Mrs.  Daven- 
port left  Aiken  by  an  early  morning  train,  and  Mr. 
Sherman  invited  Annie  to  drive  with  him  that  after- 
noon. 

"  Don't  take  any  of  the  children,"  he  stipulated. 
"  I  want  you  to  have  a  restful,  pleasant  ride." 

He  settled  her  carefully  in  the  buggy,  wrapping  the 
robes  about  her  feet,  inquiring  if  she  were  warmly  clad, 
and  exerted  himself  during  the  jaunt  to  select  such 
topics  as  he  thought  would  interest  her,  even  mistak- 
ing the  glow  of  conscious  benevolence  within  his  gen- 
erous breast  for  enjoyment  in  the  dutiful  companion- 
ship. 

"  This  is  a  slavish  kind  of  life  we  are  leading  here, 
my  pet,"  he  said,  seeing  the  color  revive  in  the  sallow 
cheeks  that  were  no  longer  plump ;  the  shy  delight  of 
her  who  had  borne  his  name  for  upwards  of  a  decade, 
in  his  tenderly  gallant  attentions.  "  I  have  scarcely  a 
moment  or  a  thought  that  I  can  call  my  own  ;  have 
to  run  out  of  town  if  I  want  to  say  a  nice  thing  or  two 
to  my  wife.  'This  is  the  price  of  popularity,  and  it  is 
a  dear  one.  Next  summer,  God  willing,  we  will  pack 
up  baggage  and  babes,  and  hide  in  the  up-country 
somewhere,  letting  nobody  know  in  what  direction  we 
have  gone ;  be  all  by  ourselves,  to  live  over  our  court- 


66  Two. 

ing  days  for  a  month  at  least.  You  are  the  best  and 
least  selfish  of  women  to  do  and  bear,  with  such  an- 
gelic patience,  all  that  is  laid  upon  you  by  our  posi- 
tion. I  know  and  feel  this,  dear,  however  careless  I 
may  seem." 

"I  am  sure,  George,  I  never  thought  you  careless," 
said  the  flattered  woman,  with  a  grateful  sob.  "  And 
you  are  very  good  to  be  pleased  with  what  I  can  do  to 
help  you  along.  I  have  always  felt  that  you  were  the 
kindest  husband  in  the  world — too  good  for  me." 

She  did  not  envy  the  happiest  of  newly-made  brides 
her  bliss  while  she  revelled  in  that  enchanted  excur- 
sion. The  frosty  air  was  as  balmy  as  June  ;  the  sere 
landscape  fairer  than  vernal  bloom.  She  went  in  the 
strength  of  it  and  the  love-words  her  ears  had  drunk 
many  days  and  nights. 

Says  Caroline  Helstone  of  Moore's  alternate  freez- 
ing and  thawing,  his  evident  delight  in  her  society, 
and  her  backwardness  in  securing  this:  "If  I  had  a 
means  of  happiness  at  my  command,  I  would  employ 
that  means  often.  I  would  keep  it  bright  with  use,  and 
not  let  it  lie  for  weeks  aside,  until  it  gets  rusty." 

Annie  had  never  read  "  Shirley,"  but  the  same  art- 
less thought  came  into  her  simple  head  many  times, 
when  Janette's  visit  and  counsels  became  one  of  the 
fast-fading  by-gones  to  the  man  of  the  day,  and  his 
domestic  affairs  slid  back  into  the  old  grooves.  No 
doubt  George  loved  her  as  truly  as  he  said,  and  longed 
to  be  with  her  all  the  while  he  was  out  of  her  sight. 
He  had  declared  that  he  esteemed  the  duty  slavery 
that  kept  them  so  much  apart.  Were  she  in  his  place 
she  could  not  be  so  conscientious.  Temptation  would 


Two.  67 

overcome  resolution  sometimes.  She  would  snatch  by 
stealth  meat  and  drink  for  the  famishing  heart.  But 
George  was  stronger  of  purpose  than  she. 

There  was  a  mighty  Sabbath-school  convention  in 
Aiken  in  May.  From  far  and  near  delegates  came  to 
speak  and  to  hear,  and  be  entertained  by  the  hospit- 
able townspeople,  and  to  bear  to  their  homes  the  fame 
of  the  paragon  divine  who,  "  when  he  stood  among  the 
people,"  was,  in  genius  and  popularity,  "higher  than 
any  of  the  people  from  the  shoulders  and  upward." 
Mrs.  Hayward  was  his  prime  assistant,  of  course,  and 
under  her  direction  a  mammoth  festival  was  held  in 
the  lecture  and  Sabbath-school  room  at  the  close  of 
the  convention — a  show  of  flowers  and  banners  and 
illuminated  legends  and  white  uniformed  Bands  of 
Joy,  Hope,  Faith,  and  Love ;  of  mountains  of  sand- 
wiches arrd  obelisks  of  creams  and  shaking  towers  of 
jelly ;  bulwarks  of  cake  and  confectionery  and  cascades 
of  lemonade  such  as  the  guests  had  never  beheld  else- 
where. 

"  Excuse  me,  ma'am,"  said  a  stranger  from  the 
country  to  Mrs.  Sherman,  who  sat  in  an  obscure  cor- 
ner, feeding  a  small  child  belonging  to  the  Mission 
school  with  cake  and  ice  cream,  "  but  isn't  that  Mr. 
Sherman's  wife  standing  by  him  at  the  head  of  the 
table?  My  friend  here  has  heard  somewhere  from 
somebody  that  she  is  an  awfully  ordinary  kind  of  per- 
son, quite  unsuitable  to  him,  but  I  tell  her  she  must 
be  mistaken.  I've  been  watching  them  two  ever  so 
long,  and  I'm  certain  they  are  husband  and  wife^and 
very  fond  of  one  another  at  that." 

"  That  lady  is  Mrs.  Hayward,  Mrs.  Sherman's  most 


68  Two. 

intimate  friend,"  answered  Annie,  with  all  the  dignity 
she  could  muster  at  so  short  a  notice.  "  She  is  the 
superintendent  of  the  girls'  department  of  the  Sab- 
bath-school, and  the  chairman  of  the  committee  of 
arrangements  for  to-day." 

"  Ah ! "  The  old  lady  eyed  her  narrowly  'twixt  con- 
fusion and  curiosity.  "  She's  as  handsome  a  woman  as 
ever  I  see — a'most  like  a  queen,  I  should  say.  That's 
one  reason  I  picked  her  out  as  the  pastor's  wife.  Is 
Mrs.  Sherman  anywheres  around  here  ?  If  you  spy  her, 
won't  you  point  her  out  to  me  ?  One  always  wants  to 
see  what  the  wife  of  a  distinguished  man  is  like,  you 
know.  Tears  like  we  don't  just  know  what  to  think 
of  him  until  we  see  what  kind  of  woman  he's  married." 

"  I  don't  see  her  just  now."  Annie  was  growing 
sick  and  cowardly,  ashamed  to  reveal  herself  to  the 
blunt  dame.  "  She  is,  as  you  have  heard;  plain  in 
appearance — very  *  ordinary.'  You  would  never  single 
her  out  in  a  crowd  as  Mr.  Sherman's  wife." 

Then  she  got  herself  away  out  of  the  throng  while 
she  had  strength  to  move ;  slipped  through  a  side  door 
opening  upon  the  parsonage  garden,  and  so  reached 
her  home,  deserted  this  afternoon  even  by  the  ser- 
vants, and  had  several  hours  in  which  to  think  and  to 
suffer. 

The  parsonage  was  crowded  with  visitors  all  that 
evening,  but  Mrs.  Hayward  was  "  to  the  fore,"  and 
diverted  general  attention  from  the  harassed  looks  of 
the  hostess,  who  poured  out  unnumbered  cups  of  tea 
and  coffee  in  the  heated  dining-room,  in  obedience  to 
the  orders  of  the  young  lady  and  gentlemen  waiters, 
moving  and  speaking  like  one  in  a  dream.  She  wore 


Two.  69 

a  plain  black  silk,  her  hair  was  tucked  tightly  behind 
her  ears,  and  her  collar  was  crooked. 

"  Such  a  forlorn  and  don't-carish  figure !  "  muttered 
one  school-girl  to  another. 

For  once  she  applied  her  adjectives  correctly.  Annie 
was  forlorn  and  she  did  not  care  how  she  looked  or 
what  became  of  her. 

It  was  on  that  night  that  little  Bennie,  her  dead 
father's  namesake  and  the  "  mother's  boy "  of  her 
flock,  was  taken  ill  with  brain  fever.  Few  men  are 
born  nurses ;  but  some,  under  the  teaching  of  love, 
rival  woman  in  this  her  peculiar  sphere  ;  develop  such 
patience,  ingenuity,  and  tenderness  as  combine  with 
their  strength  to  make  them  blessed  ministrants  in  the 
chamber  of  suffering.  George  was  deeply  attached  to 
his  boy.  He  would  have  lopped  off  his  right  hand 
without  a  murmur,  if  by  the  lesser  loss  he  could  save 
the  priceless  life  that  was  in  visible  danger  from  the 
beginning  of  the  attack.  But,  unskilled  in  household 
occupations,  with  a  natural  aversion  to  the  homely 
details  of  a  sick-room,  and  the  shrinking  from  the  con- 
templation of  physical  anguish  common  to  those  who 
are  themselves  faultlessly  sound  in  health,  he  was  a 
hindrance  rather  than  a  help  to  those  who  had  the 
care  of  the  unconscious  child.  The  disease  ran  its 
course  with  direful  swiftness.  On  the  third  day  after 
the  seizure  the  physicians  pronounced  the  case  hope- 
less. 

The  verdict  was  given  beside  the  dying  child  and 
in  the  presence  of  both  parents.  Bennie  lay  in  his 
mother's  lap,  his  restless  head  pillowed  upon  her 
bosom.  She  did  not  quail  at  the  dread  sentence,  did 


7<D  Two. 

not  weep  or  move ;  only  gazed  upon  her  darling's  face 
with  an  expression  that  awed  and  calmed  those  who 
saw  it.  Her  eyes  were  clear  and  solemn  and  had  a 
far-seeing  look  that  seemed  to  follow  him  in  anticipa- 
tion into  the  shadowless  land. 

"  My  bonnie,  bonnie  boy!"  she  said,  softly,  forget- 
ful that  others  were  by,  "  your  cross  has  been  light ; 
your  crown  has  come  very  soon.  The  dark  valley  is  a 
safe  and  easy  road  to  such  tiny  travellers." 

The  family  physician,  a  grave,  observant  man,  heard 
the  loving  murmurs  as  he  stood  behind  her  chair, 
moved  aside  instinctively  to  make  way  for  the  father 
who  had  bowed  his  head  upon  the  mantel  with  a 
heavy  groan  when  the  truth  was  told  him,  and  now 
turned  as  if  to  approach  his  wife.  He  checked  him- 
self a  few  paces  off,  stared  wildly  at  the  changed  face 
lying  against  the  mother's  breast  and  rushed  from  the 
apartment.  The  holy  tranquillity  of  Mrs.  Sherman's 
eyes  was  troubled. 

"Poor  papa!"  she  said,  simply,  "he  will  miss  his 
boy.  Doctor,  will  you  go  to  him,  please?  He  needs 
comfort." 

"  There  is  but  one  earthly  friend  whose  presence 
would  be  acceptable  to  him  at  this  moment,  madam," 
was  the  respectful  reply,  "  and  that  is  his  wife.  Your 
child  will  not  notice  your  absence;  he  does  not  suffer; 
your  husband  does." 

She  did  not  answer  for  several  moments,  and  her 
face  drooped  lower  until  it  rested  on  Bennie's.  "You 
may  be  right,"  she  said  at  length.  "  Can  you  hold 
him  while  I  am  gone  ?  " 

Her  light  footstep  was  soundless  in  the  carpeted  hall 


Two.  71 

and  library.  The  door  of  the  inner  room — George's 
sanctum — was  shut  but  not  fast ;  it  moved  without 
sourtd  upon  its  hinges,  but  she  did  not  pass  the  thres- 
hold. Why  should  she  when  one  glance  showed  her 
the  physician's  mistake  ? 

George  sat  in  his  study-chair,  one  elbow  on  his 
knee,  his  face  hidden  in  his  handkerchief,  weeping  in 
the  vehemence  of  woe  so  terrifying  to  the  beholder 
when  it  shakes  manhood  from  self-control.  Mrs.  Hay- 
ward  knelt  upon  a  hassock  before  him,  her  tears  stream- 
ing as  fast  as  his.  Her  left  arm  was  about  his  neck, 
and  his  encircled  her  waist.  An  affecting  tableau  I 
should  not  dare  describe  were  not  the  sketch  taken 
from  life. 

"  Dearest  George!  "  she  cooed,  "  for  the  sake  of  the 
children  and  friends  left  to  you,  for  the  sake  of  your 
work,  do  not  yield  to  this  crushing  blow  !  Oh,  if  my 
love  and  sympathy  could  lesson  one  pang !  the  knowl- 
edge of  my  devotion  comfort  you  ! " 

"  Sweet  comforter !  my  angel  of  mercy !  what  should 
I  do  in  this  hour  without  you  ?  " 

Annie  saw  her  husband  wipe  away  the  grief  marks 
from  the  face  upturned  to  his,  and  stoop  to  kiss  it. 
She  shut  the  door  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  opened  it 
and  went  back  to  her  boy. 

The  last  scene  was  very  near.  Mrs.  Sherman  held 
him  all  through  the  final  convulsion,  tearless  and  ap- 
parently composed.  Some  one  suggested  that  Mr. 
Sherman  should  be  summoned.  The  speaker's  voice 
was  guarded,  but  the  wife  heard  and  answered  quietly 
but  firmly :  "  No  ;  he  does  not  wish  it." 

With  her  own  hands  she  closed  the  blue  eyes  that 


72  Two. 

had  ever  been  fountains  of  love  to  her  (who  needed 
love  so  much  !),  arrayed  the  perfect  little  form  for  its 
last  peaceful  sleep  and  laid  him  upon  his  bed,  bidding 
the  sobbing  children  "  kiss  him  good  night."  They 
clustered  about  her  as  she  left  the  room  and  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock.  She  paused  to  scan  their  fright- 
ened, tear-stained  faces. 

"  My  darlings,"  she  said,  in  her  accustomed  gentle 
tones,  "  it  is  late  and  you  have  had  no  supper.  Shall 
mamma  go  down  and  give  you  some  ?  " 

Her  first  act  on  reaching  the  dining-room  was  to 
pour  out  a  cup  of  coffee,  sweeten  and  cream  it  as 
George  liked  to  have  it,  and  send  it  to  the  library  by 
Georgina,  the  eldest  daughter. 

"Don't  go  into  the  study,  dear,"  she  directed. 
"Knock  at  the  door  and  wait  until  papa  opens  it. 
Tell  him  you  think  it  will  do  him  good.  He  will  be 
gratified  that  you  have  remembered  him  in  your  dis- 
tress. Ask  if  you  may  not  take  him  up  something 
more  substantial — a  sandwich,  or  some  biscuit  and 
chicken." 

"  I  always  said  she  was  an  oyster !  "  ejaculated  one 
of  Mr.  Sherman's  enthusiastic  disciples  when  this  epi- 
sode of  the  mournful  history  was  reported  to  her. 
"  She  has  not  a  grain  of  sentiment  or  delicacy  about 
her.  I  never  heard  of  anything  more  repulsive  in  my 
life." 

Mrs.  Hayward  possessed  feeling  and  refinement  in 
generous  measure,  and  she  manifested  these  by  coax- 
ing her  Platonic  lover  to  sip  the  strong  coffee  in 
spoonfuls,  feeding  him  with  her  white  hands,  and 
weeping  with  gratitude  when  he  blessed  her  for  her 


Two.  73 

loving    solicitude,    owning    that    the    beverage    had 
quieted  and  strengthened  him. 

I  have  told  my  story  badly  if  I  have  produced  upon 
the  mind  of  a  single  reader  the  impression  that  Mr. 
Sherman  and  his  favorite  parishioner  were  hypocrites,' 
or  that  either  descried  the  remotest  approach  to  crimi- 
nality in  an  intimacy  which  they  named  the  love  of 
brother  and  sister.  Mrs.  Hayward  really  considered 
herself  a  model  of  purity  and  propriety  and  would 
have  repudiated  with  honest  horror  the  suggestion 
that  her  claim  upon  her  spiritual  mate  trespassed 
upon  Mrs.  Sherman's  legal  or  moral  rights.  George 
Sherman  would  have  sworn  in  good  faith  upon  the 
oracle  of  his  holy  religion  that  he  was  true  to  his  wife 
in  intent  and  in  deed.  I  write  this  in  sad  sincerity 
with  no  thought  of  sarcasm,  regretful  the  while  that 
conscience  has  laid  upon  me  the  task  of  throwing 
light  upon  a  blurred  page  of  human  nature. 

I  am  assured  that,  among  the  errors  of  this  age  and 
land,  none  is  gaining  ground  more  rapidly  in  circles 
where  morality  and  religion  are  openly  acknowledged 
as  ruling  principles,  than  the  laxity  of  respect  for  the 
sacredness,  the  absoluteness  of  the  marriage  tie.  Hardly 
a  week  passes  in  which  I  am  not  appalled  by  the  sud- 
den gaping  before  my  sight  of  gulfs  as  dark  as  nio-ht 
and  deep  as  hell,  sundering  those  whom  the  world  has 
hitherto  believed  to  be  one  in  feeling  as  in  name  I 
know  women  whose  choicest  trophies  are  the  con- 
quests of  married  men ;  wreaths  of  victory  none  the 
less  honorable  in  their  opinion  because  beaded  with 
tears  and  blood  wrung  from  the  hearts  of  wives  who 
are  so  old-fashioned  in  their  creed  as  to  consider  that 


74  Two. 

their  husbands'  affections  belong,  as  entirely  to  them 
as  do  theirs  to  the  men  they  call  "  lords." 

There  is  but  one  safe  test  in  cases  of  conscience  of 
this  description,  for  if  Love  is  not  a  competent  umpire, 
let  Conscience  sit  in  his  stead. 

The  rule  should  work  both  ways. 

George  Sherman  held  his  wife's  devotion  in  light 
esteem,  perhaps,  but  his  wrath  would  have  been  deep 
and  fierce  had  he  chanced  to  discover  her  in  the  re- 
ception of  such  consolation  from  Mrs.  Hayward's 
brother  as  the  bewitching  widow  gave  to  him.  I 
have  written  upon  this  subject  before,  and  more  than 
once.  If  I  were  to  protest  against  the  profanation  of 
the  names  of  marriage  and  friendship  offered  by  the 
Platonic  loves  of  the  day,  every  time  I  set  pen  to  paper, 
and  every  word  were  living  fire  to  burn  into  the  souls 
of  the  parties  to  the  horrible  fraud,  I  should  not  ex- 
press too  strongly  the  detestation  which  the  lovers  of 
truth  and  honor  should  feel  for  these. 

But — and  herein  lie  mystery  and  discouragement — 
those  who  teach  and  practice  moral  and  pious  pre- 
cepts are  not  severe  upon  cruelties  such  as  I  have  de- 
scribed. I  have  sat,  with  high,  indignant  pulses  and 
set  teeth,  in  a  group  of  amiable  Christian  people,  well- 
bred  and  well-educated,  and  listened  to  stories  of  this 
and  that  "  soul  friendship  "  (so  styled  in  mockery  by 
the  most  Christian  narrators),  illustrated  by  hand- 
squeezings  and  tender  billets  and  the  kiss  of  peace, 
these  being  retailed  as  pleasant  jests,  with  zestful  re- 
lations of  the  cleverly  eluded  arts  of  jealous  wives  to 
regain  their  lost  property  and  punish  their  rivals  ;  mar- 
velled with  growing  horror  at  the  number  of  authentic 


Two.  75 

anecdotes  that  followed  hard  upon  one  another  after 
the  subject  was  once  broached,  until  I  have  sickened 
into  disgust  of  my  kind,  and  the  Evil  One  has  injected 
harrowing  doubts  of  the  existence  of  any  right  thing, 
anything  pure,  honorable,  or  of  good  report  in  this  sin- 
defiled  world. 

The  pastor's  country-bred  wife  was  unsophisticated. 
Mrs.  Hayward  said  so,  and  she  ought  to  know.  She 
would  have  sneered  more  loftily  than  ever  had  she 
guessed  that  the  tame,  dull  wife — the  barn-yard  fowl 
with  whom  Fate  had  yoked  her  eagle — crouching  that 
night  in  the  dim  and  dusty  garret  which  was  the  only 
retreat  available  for  her  in  all  the  house,  sat  in  judg- 
ment upon  the  spirit  union  of  her  queenly  self  with 
the  kingly  bird,  and  pronounced  it  a  sin  against  her- 
self and  HIM  in  whose  name  George  and  Annie  Sher- 
man had  been  pronounced  ONE. 

"  She  has  robbed  me !  "  said  the  narrow-minded 
woman,  too  spent  by  suffering  to  think  of  revenge ; 
too  true  to  her  husband  to  meditate  exposure.  "  I 
hope  GOD  will  forgive  her !  Some  day  perhaps  I 
may!" 

Then  she  knelt  by  the  trunk  on  which  she  had  been 
sitting  and  asked  the  Hearer  of  the  afflicted  and  needy 
to  pardon  her  beloved  and  give  her  grace  to  be  dumb 
as  to  her  wrongs. 

She  did  not  die  of  her  hurt.  If  wounds  of  this  na- 
ture were  mortal,  the  supply  of  widowers  in  the  mat- 
rimonial market  would  divert  the  attention  of  the 
seekers  after  spiritual  affinities  from  the  pursuit  of 
"  charming "  married  men.  George  is  Doctor  Sher- 
man flfow  ;  a  very  pope  in  his  principality  of  Aiken, 


76  Two. 

which  has  grown  into  a  great  city,  and  Mrs.  Hayward 
is  yet  his  prime  minister.  His  wife  still  looks  well  to 
the  minute  economies  of  his  household,  and  leaves 
church  government,  fancy  bazaars  and  Sabbath-school 
festivak  to  an  active  corps  of  deaconesses.  She  has 
brought  up  her  children  in  the  fear  of  GOD,  and  to  re- 
spect their  father  as  a  wise,  good  man.  But  they  do 
not  love  him  as  they  do  their  gray-haired  mother,  al- 
though they  have  never  suspected  the  secret  that 
blasted  the  sweetest  of  her  earthly  beliefs  the  night 
Bennie  died. 

Only  once  did  the  seal  upon  her  lips  bend  as  if  ready 
to  break.  The  temptation  to  indiscretion  was  a  re- 
mark of  Georgie's  respecting  an  incongruous  marriage 
between  two  of  her  young  acquaintances. 

"  It  is  too  bad  to  see  such  a  man  sacrificed  to  a  silly 
doll,"  said  the  girl. 

"  My  love,"  remonstrated  the  gentle  mother,  "  since 
he  wooed  and  wedded  her  of  his  own  free  will,  is  it 
not  his  duty,  one  from  which  nothing  can  absolve  him, 
to  submit  himself  like  a  man  and  a  Christian  to  the 
consequences  of  his  voluntary  act  ?  " 


THE  HEART  OF  JOHN  STEWART. 


THERE  were  no  external  marks  of  the  hero  about 
the  subject  of  this  story.  He  was  tall,  gaunt,  and 
angular  ;  he  stooped  slightly ;  his  hair  was  iron-gray ; 
his  features,  never  handsome,  were  grave  to  severity. 
"  Hard-featured,"  people  called  him  who  had  never 
seen  the  rare,  sudden  smile  that  reminded  those  who 
remarked  it  of  the  break  of  the  sunrise  down  and  over 
the  mountains.  He  was  in  his  private  office  on  a 
bright  June  morning,  dressed  in  decent  black,  with  a 
smooth  white  cravat  tied  after  the  fashion  of  forty 
years  ago ;  the  close-bodied  dress  coat  he  had  never 
laid  aside  for  the  modern  frock  or  sack  worn  by  his 
associates  during  business  hours,  buttoned  about  his 
spare  waist,  and  showing  his  shoulder-blades  sharply, 
as  he  bent  over  his  desk,  reading  the  letters  brought 
by  the  early  mail. 

The  last  opened  was  the  longest,  and  bore  the  same 
signature  as  his  own,  with  a  "  Jr."  added  flourishingly 
in  the  college-boy's  boldest  hand.  The  senior's  eyes 
lingered  upon  this  as  they  had  not  upon  the  subject- 
matter  of  the  epistle. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  within  himself,  although  his 
thin  lips   did   not  stir,  "  I  suppose  that  would  have 
been  the  name  of  my  son  if  I  had  ever  had  one." 
77 


78  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

He  docketed  the  rest  of  the  letters,  summoned  a 
clerk  to  receive  them  with  his  instructions  respecting 
the  answers  to  be  written,  and,  when  again  alone,  sat 
in  his  revolving-chair,  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 
eyes  half-shut,  his  nephew's  letter  lying  open  before 
him.  His  nephew  and  heir,  so  decreed  the  world,  ever 
ready  to  interest  itself  in  rich  men's  affairs,  and  paid 
the  boy  due  court  accordingly.  A  nice  boy,  take 
him  all-in-all ;  bright-faced  and  bright-tempered,  who, 
as  he  had  informed  his  uncle  by  mail,  had  taken 
the  third  honor  in  college,  and  was  naturally  desirous 
that  his  benefactor  should  attend  the  approaching 
Commencement.  John  Stewart's  only  and  dead-bro- 
ther's only  child,  whom  he  had  maintained  since  his 
father's  death,  fifteen  years  back,  although  the  widow 
had  married  a  man  in  comfortable  circumstances. 
The  boy  had  behaved  as  well  as  could  be  expected 
from  a  lad  "  with  expectations  ;  "  presuming  less  upon 
these  than  most  persons  of  his  age  would  have  done; 
deporting  himself  respectfully,  but  not  servilely,  to 
the  rich  bachelor,  and  never  vexing  his  moral,  respect- 
able soul  with  pathetic  petitions  for  means  to  pay 
debts  of  honor,  or  pleading  the  unavoidable  expenses 
of  college  life  as  a  reason  for  the  increase  of  the  liberal 
allowance  transmitted  to  him  quarterly. 

It  was  not  anxiety  about  the  actual  John  Stewart, 
Jr.,  which  shaded  the  deep-set  eyes  with  a  sadder  seri- 
ousness, drew  more  tightly  the  crow's-feet  at  the  cor- 
ners of  his  eyes,  the  wider,  longer  furrows  about  the 
mouth.  It  was  the  thought  of  that  other  to  whom 
the  name  should  have  belonged,  the  boy  who  had 
never  been,  the  fine  youth  who  should  have  penned 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  79 

that  letter,  or — for  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  he 
could  have  suffered  him  out  of  his  sight  for  long  at  a 
time — who  should  now  be  sitting  opposite  him,  talking 
in  the  cheery,  hearty  way  he  liked  to  see  in  young 
men,  although  he  had  never  had  it  himself ;  looking 
into  his  eyes  with  others  as  loving,  and  far  more 
beautiful,  dark  gray,  with  long,  black  lashes,  such  as 
he  used  to  meet  so  often  at  the  church  door,  when 
Ursula  Force  sang  in  the  choir  of  the  Presbyterian 
church  at  the  other  end  of  town. 

The  church  had  been  abandoned  of  its  worshippers, 
and  sold  for  a  hat-factory  twenty  years  since,  and  five 
years  before  that  Ursula  married  the  showy  young 
clergyman,  who  turned  all  the  girls'  heads,  and  made 
those  of  their  elders  shake  in  doubting  reproof,  during 
the  winter  the  old  pastor  lay  dying  of  consumption. 
Faithful  shepherd  to  the  last,  he  still  kept  watch  and 
ward  over  his  flock,  although  heart  and  flesh  were 
faint.  All  that  concerned  their  welfare,  temporal  or 
spiritual,  interested  him,  and  John  Stewart  well  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  the  long  hand-pressure,  the  pity- 
ing look  in  the  dim  eyes,  that  were  his  salutation  on 
the  last  night  he  sat  up  alone  with  him.  He  had  taken 
his  turn  at  watching,  with  half-a-dozen  other  young 
men  in  the  church,  for  three  months ;  learned  many 
and  lasting  lessons  from  the  lips  which  were  so  soon 
t£  be  dumb.  He  had  forgotten  none  of  them,  but  he 
remembered  that  latest  interview  as  distinctly  as  if  it 
had  taken  place  but  yesterday.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
by  either  touching  the  weight  that  was  crushing  the 
spirit  of  one  and  sorely  grieving  that  of  the  other, 
until  the  night  was  far  spent.  Then,  the  pastor  laid 


80  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

his  trembling  hand  upon  that  which  had  just  held  the 
cup  to  his  lips. 

"  My  dear  boy,  GOD  will  help  you  bear  it ;  I  cannot. 
But  I  am  praying  for  you  all  the  time  that  you  are 
breasting  the  deep  waters." 

Ursula  Force  had  been  to  him  almost  as  a  daughter, 
and  he  had  cordially  approved  of  her  engagement  with 
John  Stewart.  She  could  hardly  have  done  better — 
popular  beauty  though  she  was — than  to  put  her  hap- 
piness in  the  keeping  of  one  whose  sound  principles 
and  strong  sense  were  fast  earning  for  him  a  name 
and  a  place  in  the  community,  whose  heart  the  pastor 
knew  to  be  as  true  and  pure  as  gold.  The  Reverend 
Norman  Lansing  had  captivated  her  fancy  and  flat- 
tered her  vanity,  but  the  old  clergyman  doubted  his 
ability  or  disposition  to  make  her  as  happy  as  the  less 
demonstrative  wooer  would  have  done. 

"  He  loves  himself  too  well,"  he  had  said  to  his  wife. 
"  The  girl  has  made  a  mistake — a  sad,  sad  mistake  !  " 

He  repeated  this  to  John  Stewart  that  night,  in  a 
sorrowful,  absent-minded  way,  as  if  his  eyes  were  peer- 
ing down  the  vista  of  years  to  come.  "  She  will  live 
to  repent  it." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  was  the  hoarse  rejoinder. 

He  meant  it  then  and  always.  She  had  flung  him 
aside  and  the  memories  of  years  of  sindj-hearted  de- 
votion, with  as  little  apparent  compun»on  as  if  she 
had  been  giving  away  a  garment,  usefuPonce,  but  now 
out  of  fashion.  The  wrench  had  warped  the  man's 
nature,  but  the  grain  was  too  noble  to  allow  him  to 
harbor  a  thought  of  spite  or  revenge.  The  thing  con- 
secrated by  his  love  was  sacred  for  evermore. 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  81 

His  only  intimate  friend — the  one  confidant  of  this 
and  every  trial  from  their  school-days  up  to  manhood 
— died  the  following  year,  leaving  a  widow  and  an 
infant.  John  Stewart  visited  them,  cared  for  them  as 
if  he  had  been  in  truth  the  lost  husband's  brother, 
until  the  young  woman,  her  weeds  still  fresh,  begged 
him,  amid  tears  and  blushes,  to  "  discontinue  his 
pointed  attentions.  They  set  people  to  talking,  and 
— and — the  truth  was — she  was  engaged  to  marry  Mr. 
Walsh,  a  very  old  friend,  to  whom  she  had  been  at- 
tached before  her  union  with  her  lamented  George, 
and  he  was  disposed  to  be  jealous  about  Mr.  Stewart's 
visits.  She  was  very  grateful  for  all  his  goodness 
since  dear  George's  death.  She  didn't  know  how  she 
could  have  got  along  without  his  help — but  people 
would  talk ! " 

"  Jealous  of  me  !  "  said  John  Stewart,  widening  his 
sad  eyes  in  blank  amaze.  "  Why,  Mrs.  Judson,  you, 
your  new  lover,  and  '  people  '  generally,  should  know 
that  the  fact  that  you  were  once  George's  wife  would 
hedge  you  about  from  any  thought  or  word  of  mine 
inconsistent  with  the  respect  I  bear  his  memory.  If 
he  were  living,  you  would  not  be  more  effectually  pro- 
tected from  me." 

But  he  obeyed  her  behest  and  "  people's  "  scruples. 
From  that  day  to  this  he  had  avoided  the  society  of 
ladies.  "  Misogynist  and  mercantile  machine,"  sneered 
flippant  girls,  tot  yet  sufficiently  world-wise  to  see  in 
his  wealth  an^ample  cloak  for  his  austerity  and  indif- 
ference to  their  charms.  They  thought  him  "  an  odi- 
ous bear"  and  "  a  wooden  man,"  and  turned  up  their 
noses  pertly  at  meeting  him  in  the  street.  "A  disap- 


82  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

pointed  being  who  deserves  a  better  fate,"  and  "  Such 
a  good  chance  thrown  away,"  sighed  manoeuvring 
matrons  and  prudent  spinsters.  He  had  never  looked 
upon^Ursula  Lansing's  face,  had  not  heard  her  name 
in  a  decade.  He  only  knew  that  her  husband  was 
dead,  and  that  she  was  childless. 

Like  himself.  No  son  of  hers,  bearing  another 
man's  name,  would  ever  strike  him  to  the  heart  with 
her  eyes.  Was  it  the  June  sunshine  or  the  little  glass 
of  mignonette  set  in  the  window  by  the  Scotch  porter 
— whom  the  clerks  deemed  half-witted,  yet  dared  not 
tease  because  Mr.  Stewart  protected  him — that  brought 
her  so  vividly  before  him  this  morning?  It  certainly 
was  not  John  Stewart  Jr.'s  letter  lying  unanswered 
upon  the  desk  at  his  elbow. 

By  the  way,  it  must  be  attended  to.  He  shook 
himself  as  from  sleep,  and  wrote  to  the  lad  less  stiffly 
than  was  his  custom,  accepting  his  invitation  for  Com- 
mencement, and  requesting  him  to  engage  a  comfort- 
able room  on  the  second  floor,  with  a  sunny  front,  in 
the  best  hotel  in  the  college  town,  for  his  accommoda- 
tion. He  wrote  again,  two  days  in  advance  of  his 
departure,  to  notify  the  junior  by  what  train  to  expect 
him,  and  found  him  dutifully  awaiting  him  at  the 
depot.  The  second-floor  room  had  a  sunny  front,  but 
the  windows  opened  upon  a  piazza,  and  the  fastidious  & 
bachelor  closed  his  blinds  upon  noticing  this,  the  more 
•T  quickly  and  securely  for  seeing  the  flutter  of  a  silk 
dress  at  a  neighboring  door  as  he  leaned  out  to  undo 
the  fastening  that  held  open  a  shutter. 

The  college-hall  was  thronged  that  night  to  hear 
the  orations  of  the  junior  class.  Mr.  Stewart  attended 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  83 

to  please  his  nephew.  He  .was  the  boy's  guest  in 
some  sense,  and  would  sacrifice  his  personal  ease  for 
his  gratification.  From  beginning  to  end  of  the  ex- 
ercises he  sat  with  outward  decorum  and  inward  tor- 
tures, as  destitute  of  sympathy  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  students  and  the  gay  complaisance  of  the  vis- 
itors as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  moulded  carya- 
tides supporting  the  galleries.  They  were  crowded 
with  ladies — young,  merry,  fashionable,  and  intel- 
lectual— and  a  continual  battery  of  bright  eyes  was 
bent  upon  the  very  gray-haired  nabob  in  the  dress 
coat  and  prim  cravat,  sitting  immovable  and  un- 
smiling, in  the  centre  aisle.  But  the  most  charming 
and  the  most  watchful  failed  to  detect  a  token 
of  recognition  of  their  existence.  He  was  very  cal- 
lous or  very  shy,  they  decided,  with  various  degrees 
of  pique.  Whoever  would  make  beaux  ycux  at  his 
fortune  with  any  hope  of  success  would  have  to 
select  John,  Jr.,  the  presumptive  legatee,  as  the  means 
to  an  end. 

"  A  little  tired  with  the  journey  and  the  speeches, 
and  the  music  made  my  head  ache,"  confessed  the 
uncle,  politely  suppressing  a  yawn,  when  John,  Jr., 
had  escorted  him  to  his  chamber.  "And  since  there 
will  be  a  good  deal  more  of  the  same  thing  to-mor- 
row, I  must  have  a  fair  night's  rest.  That  will  set  me 
up  all  right.  I  won't  ask  you  in.  It  is  late.  Good- 
night !  Thank  you,  but  I  seldom  dream  ;  that  is  a 
youthful  habit,"  for  the  boy  had  wished  him  "  sound 
slumbers  and  pleasant  dreams." 

The  beams  of  the  full  moon  streamed  in  between 
the  movable  slats  of  the  window-blinds. 


84  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

"  I  was  sure  I  shut  them  up  tight,"  thought  John 
Stewart,  and,  before  striking  a  light,  crossed  the  room 
to  exclude  the  white  rays. 

A  waft  of  mignonette  scent  came  to  him  from 
without.  Some  one  was  strolling  up  and  down  the 
piazza,  singing  very  softly  to  herself  an  old-fashioned 
Scotch  ballad,  "  Ye  banks  and  braes."  It  was  a  rich, 
sweet  voice,  and  the  unseen  occupant  of  the  chamber 
stayed  his  hand  that  he  might  listen ;  his  head  bowed 
upon  'his  chest,  and  eyes  almost  closed — his  wonted 
attitude  of  reverie.  Busy  fingers,  with  talons  of 
steel,  seemed  to  tug  and  strain  at  his  heart-strings, 
until  he  nearly  swooned  in  the  mingled  anguish  and 
pleasure  of  recollection.  It  was  the  song  he  used  to 
love  best,  Ursula's  favorite,  as  they  rambled  in  the 
great  garden  behind  her  father's  house,  sauntering 
under  the  summer  moon  along  the  walk  edged  with 
mignonette.  The  mignonette  that  bloomed  and 
blackened  into  dust  in  the  last  generation  ;  the  gar- 
den now  built  up  with  tall  brick  stores.  Yet,  in  the 
blinding  spasm  of  memory,  he  believed  himself  there 
still  for  one  wild  moment ;  felt  Ursula's  hand  in  his, 
her  breath  upon  his  cheek. 

When  he  could  look  up  and  command  his  thoughts, 
a  shadow  lay  athwart  the  moonlit  floor.  A  lady, 
dressed  in  white,  with  a  black  lace  shawl  thrown 
over  her  head  and  shoulders,  leaned  on  the  piazza- 
-  railing,  and  gazed  upward  at  the  moon.  She  stood 
there  still,  without  change  of  posture  or  gaze,  five 
minutes  later,  when  the  blinds  were  unclosed  and  John 
Stewart  stepped  through  the  long  French  window. 

"Ursula!" 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  85 

A  start  of  intensest  surprise — a  quick,  impetuous 
movement  toward  him  with  both  hands  outstretched 
in  rapturous  welcome — then,  a  recoil  as  abrupt,  a 
burying  of  the  face  in  her  hands  as  if  overpowered  by 
shame  and  tenderness — these  told  the  whole  story  to 
the  heart  that  had  ached  emptily  for  her  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century. 

"  Ursula !  "  The  long-locked  tide  surging  up  in  a 
rush  of  passion,  longing  and  pity.  "  Do  we  not  stand 
in  heart  where  we  did  in  the  blessed  olden  time — the 
•dear  lang  syne  when  we  loved  and  trusted  one  another  ? 
Oh,  my  darling,  I  have  wanted  you  so  long!  so  long! 
Come  back  to  me  !  " 

She  made  as  though  she  would  have  fallen  at  his 
feet  had  he  not  upheld  her.  Her  voice  was  tremulous 
with  weeping. 

"  Noble  !  faithful !  Can  you  forgive  ?  "  was  all  he 
could  distinguish  of  the  incoherent  murmur. 

"  I  forgave  you  always !  I  forget  now,"  was  the 
answer. 

They  talked  together  long  and  earnestly  in  the 
moonlight  that  mellowed  the  ravages  of  time  in 
both. 

"  I  did  not  know  why  I  was  too  restless  to  think  of 
sleep  to-night,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  upon  his 
arm,  in  the  well-remembered  fashion  that  thrilled  him 
through  and  through,  raising  the  still  lovely  face  and 
ever-matchless  eyes  to  his  view.  "  I  could  not  divine 
what  impelled  me  to  walk  here  when  I  believed  every- 
body else  on  this  side  of  the  house  had  retired ;  to 
muse  of  old  times  and  lost  happiness,  and  renew  the 
vain  repentance  that  has  been  my  hourly  companion 


86  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

for  years.  I  did  not  dream  you  were  so  near  me.  I 
understand  it  all  now.  O  John,  if  I  sinned  against 
you,  I  also  sacrificed  my  own  peace  of  mind !  I  have 
suffered, — I  can  never  tell  you  how  much !  " 

"  You  never  shall  try  to  tell  me — never,  if  I  can  help 
it,  look  back  to  the  season  we  have  passed  apart  from 
one  another.  We  begin  our  new  life — or  join  it  on  to 
the  old  so  closely  we  shall  never  see  the  seam  where  it 
is  welded — from  this  hour." 

When  John,  Jr.,  called  to  breakfast  with  his  uncle, 
he  was  directed  to  a  private  parlor  he  had  not  been 
instructed  to  engage.  A  handsome  woman,  in  a  flow- 
ing muslin  negligt?  and  a  lace  breakfast-cap,  looking 
sweet  and  cool  as  a  day-lily,  in  the  shaded  room,  hot 
as  was  the  July  morning,  was  pouring  out  the  million- 
aire's Souchong.  John  Stewart  arose  at  his  nephew's 
entrance,  and  shook  hands  with  him,  his  face  aglow 
with  his  rare  smile. 

"  Mrs.  Lansing,  allow  me  to  present  my  brother's 
son  and  my  namesake.  John,  my  boy,  this  lady  has 
promised  to  become  your  aunt  in  season  to  listen  to 
your  graduation  speech." 

She  kept  her  word,  but  the  ceremony  was  performed 
at  the  house  of  the  officiating  clergyman,  and  so  quietly 
that  not  three  persons  in  the  crowd  packing  every 
corner  of  the  audience-hall  to  overflowing  that  scorch- 
ing day,  suspected  the  relation  just  formed  between 
the  pretty  widow  whose  errand  to  the  neighborhood 
was  said  by  the  gossips  to  be  husband-catching,  and 
the  wealthy  city  merchant  who  chanced  to  get  a  seat 
in  the  same  pew  with  her.  They  did  not  speak  or 
look  at  one  another,  it  was  remembered  afterward,  al- 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  87 

though  both  appeared  to  hearken  with  especial  inter- 
est to  poor,  dazed  John's  oration. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Stewart  were  off  upon  their 
bridal  tour  before  the  story  of  their  renewed  courtship 
and  hasty  wedding  took  wind.  The  honeymoon  was 
spent  by  the  time  they  settled  themselves  in  their  city 
home.  The  whirlpool  of  gossip  that  had  dashed  and' 
roared  into  stormy  foam  at  every  mention  of  their 
names,  seethed  itself  into  meek  whispers  at  Mr.  Stew- 
art's reappearance  in  his  accustomed  haunts,  dignified 
and  quiet  as  ever ;  as  circumspect  in  demeanor  and 
formal  in  attire,  as  vigilant  and  energetic  in  business. 
The  most  forwardly-inquisitive  of  his  acquaintances 
durst  not  question  him  as  to  the  causes  that  led  to  his 
change  of  life.  The  least  gallant  declared  that  his 
wife's  face  and  manner  were  enough  to  turn  the  brain 
of  a  younger  and  more  impressible  man.  That  he  had 
succumbed  to  their  magic  was  a  proof  that  old  Jack 
Stewart  had  yet  a  morsel  of  heart  hid  away  somewhere 
in  his  lean  body ;  a  thing  nobody  would  have  credited 
without  indisputable  evidence. 

Mrs.  Stewart  was  a  remarkably  well-preserved  wo- 
man. In  reality  she  was  but  six  years  younger  than 
her  husband.  A  stranger  would  have  guessed  sixteen, 
and  then  marvelled  at  her  fresh  complexion,  dazzling 
teeth  and  sparkling  eyes,  at  her  lively  flow  of  society 
chitchat,  and  the  girlish  music  of  her  laugh.  Her 
beauty  and  health  had  been  her  only  capital  all^her  life, 
and  she  had  guarded  both  with  scrupulous  care,  re- 
ligiously avoiding  disquieting  cares  and  profound 
thought  whenever  she  could.  She  came  back  to  the 
city  which  was  her  girlhood's  home  without  a  visible 


88  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

blush  over  the  fickleness  and  perfidy  that  had  preceded 
her  departure  from  it  as  Norman  Lansing's  hastily- 
wooed  bride ;  without  a  haunting  memory,  so  far  as 
lookers-on  could  discern,  of  the  man  who  had  lured 
her  from  her  troth  to  her  earlier  lover,  or  regret  that 
she  had,  in  yielding  to  his  suit,  delayed  her  present 
good  fortune.  She  had  known  privations  as  the  spouse 
of  an  invalid  clergyman — so  ran  the  talk  of  the  wise- 
acres— trials  by  poverty  and  the  peevish  humors  of  an 
arbitrary,  sick  and  disappointed  man.  If  she  had  ever 
laid  these  to  heart,  she  hid  their  imprint  successfully. 
She  heartily  enjoyed  her  altered  position,  the  luxurious 
establishment  of  which  she  was  mistress ;  the  large  cir- 
cle of  appreciative  admirers  collected  about  her  by 
her  husband's  wealth  ;  was  unaffectedly  grateful  to 
him  to  whom  she  owed  her  prosperity. 

Thus  much  Society  saw.  There  could  be  no  fault 
found  with  her  demeanor  to  her  mature  bridegroom. 
It  was  respectful  and  affectionate  without  being  fool- 
ishly fond.  She  was  watchful  of  his  comfort,  quick 
in  recognition  of  his  attentions  and  many  excellent 
qualities,  and  had  the  good  taste  to  refrain  from  all 
public  allusions  to  the  circumstances  of  their  old-time 
intimacy  and  their  reunion.  What  common  sense 
and  the  innate  delicacy  for  which  he  seldom  received 
credit  did  for  him  in  the  regulation  of  his  behavior 
outside  of  his  home,  tact  accomplished  for  her.  Bril- 
liant she  had  never  been.  The  past  had  showed  that 
she  was  neither  deep-hearted  nor  stable.  She  was 
handsome  and  cunning,  but  never  malicious  or  vicious 
— only  thoroughly  and  altogether  selfish  in  her  ami- 
able way. 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  89 

The  world  is  full  of  such  people — those  for  whom 
the  la\V"  and  the  prophets  hang  upon  the  proposition 
that  self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature.  Hav- 
ing taken  the  best  imaginable  care  of  themselves,  they 
are  then  willing — rather  desirous,  in  fact — that  the 
rest  of  mankind  should  have  a  comfortable  time.  It  is 
disagreeable  to  see  suffering  and  to  listen  to  complaints. 
These  are  the  women  who  spoil  their  children  by  in- 
dulgence, sooner  than  resist  importunities  and  repress 
waywardness ;  who  dupe  instead  of  disputing  with 
their  husbands  ;  whose  god  is  their  own  ease,  and 
whose  watchword  through  life  is,  "  Anything  for 
peace  !  " — (to  myself  !) — the  bracketed  phrase  being 
understood,  not  expressed.  These  are  the  women, 
too,  for  whose  sweet  sake  men  more  often  go  mad, 
cut  one  another's  throats  and  sacrifice  their  hopes  for 
time  and  eternity — curse  GOD,  and  die — than  for  a 
Lucretia,  a  Roland,  a  Sappho,  or  an  Elizabeth  Fry. 
This  was  the  woman  at  whose  shrine,  broken  and 
dusty,  John  Stewart  had  watched — a  vestal — through 
the  unlighted  vigil  of  years  ;  upon  whom  he  now  lav- 
ished the  wealth  of  heart  and  purse  without  stint. 

"  It  is  ever  so  nice  to  be  adored !  You  can't  think !  " 
lisped  a  pretty  doll  to  me  once,  after  describing  the 
incident  of  her  conquest  of  one  of  the  noblest  hearts 
that  ever  beat. 

Ursula  Stewart's  tact  saved  her  from  such  spoken 
folly,  but  this  was  her  idea,  all  the  same. 

They  had  been  married  two  months.  No  mortal 
ever  knew  how  near  to  the  widely-opened  door  of 
Paradise  John  Stewart  had  lived  in  those  eight  weeks  ; 
how  abundantly  his  early  dreams  and  the  oft  and 


90  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

sternly  repressed  aspirations  of  riper  manhood  were 
fulfilled  by  them." 

"  I  feel,  half  the  time,  like  a  dreaming  man,  who 
dreads  the  awakening,"  he  said,  one  autumn  morning, 
as  he  toyed  with  his  tea-cup  to  prolong  the  breakfast 
talk  with  his  wife.  "  As  the  children  say  about  holi- 
days, when  they  have  actually  come,  '  It  is  too  good 
to  be  true.' " 

"  It  is  very  naughty  and  unkind  in  you  to  hint  at 
the  possibility  of  an  awakening,"  retorted  his  vis-a-vis, 
with  a  charming  pout,  belied  by  the  tender  smile  in 
the  moist  eyes. 

"Unkind!"  The  word  jarred  upon  his  ear.  He 
arose,  came  around  to  her  and  slipped  his  hand  under 
her  chin,  brought  the  eyes  he  so  tenderly  loved  to 
bear  upon  his.  "  I  do  not  think  I  could  ever  be  that 
to  you,  my  darling.  I  know  you  could  never  deserve 
it." 

"  You  do  trust  me  a  little — just  a  little,  then  ?  " 

She  shifted  his  hand  to  her  lips,  then  rested  her 
cheek,  soft  and  rosy  as  a  girl's,  within  his  palm  for  a 
moment.  He  felt  the  warmth  of  the  caress  long  after 
it  was  removed. 

"  If  I  did  not,  I  should  pray  to  die,"  he  said,  strongly, 
almost  fiercely. 

They  had  exchanged  the  parting  salutation  he  never 
offered  in  the  presence  of  a  third  person,  and  he  was 
at  the  foot  of  the  tall  flight  of  marble  steps  which 
were  the  imposing  entrance  to  his  home,  when  her 
voice  called  him  softly  from  the  top. 

"  John,  love  !" 

He  glanced   back,  and   noted,  for  the  thousandth 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  91 

time,  how  fair  and  winsome  she  was ;  how  bewitching 
her  smile ;  how  like  heaven  her  eyes. 

"John,  dear,"  bending  forward  with  a  mischievous 
laugh,  and  speaking  almost  in  a  whisper, "  please  don't 
wake  up  before  you  come  back !  " 

He  raised  his  hat  in  reply,  as  if  he  would  have 
waved  it  in  his  triumphant  security  but  for  the  thought 
that  others  might  see  the  gesture;  the  sudden  illumi- 
nation she  knew  how  to  kindle,  flashing  over  his  coun- 
tenance— and  was  gone. 

John  Stewart  said  a  grave  "Good-morning"  to  the 
clerks  in  the  store  and  outer  office;  a  kindly  one  to 
Scotch  Jamie,  who  stood  at  the  door  of  the  inner, 
watching,  with  spaniel-like  faithfulness,  for  his  master's 
approach  ;  passed  into  his  private  room,  hung  up  his 
hat  and  folded  his  gloves  in  his  methodical  way ; 
stooped,  for  a  long  second,  to  the  glass  of  mignonette 
in  the  window  and  sat  down  to  read  the  letters  await- 
ing him.  The  first  he  opened  was  a  bulky  packet. 

"MR.  JOHN  STEWART  "  (it  began  abruptly):  "I  have  just  returned 
to  what  was  a  dear  home  to  me  from  a  visit  in  the  far  West,  to  find  the 
woman  I  have  courted  for  five  years  has  married  you  for  your  money. 
She  was  engaged,  fast  and  firm,  to  me,  as  you  will  see  from  the  letters 
I  send  with  this — the  last  one  written  just  the  day  before  her  marriage 
to  you.  She  says  in  that  that  she  loves  me,  me  only,  and  is  longing  for 
the  day  that  will  give  her  into  my  arms.  She  calls  me  her  '  darling 
husband.'  And  twenty-four  hours  afterward  she  sold  herself  to  you. 
When  you  have  read  these  letters  give  them  to  her  and  tell  her  to  return 
mine  ;  also  the  gifts  Twas  constantly  loading  her  with,  like  the  blind 
fool  I  was.  I  don't  mean  to  be  insulting  to  you,  but  a  man  in  my  posi- 
tion can't  pick  his  words.  I  am  more  sorry  than  angry  with  you  ;  for  a 
woman  who  has  fooled  one  man  as  she  has  me,  will  fool  another. 
*'  Very  respectfully, 

"  DAVID  GUILD." 


92  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

Mrs.  Stewart  was  stepping  into  her  carriage  for  a 
round  of  morning  calls  when  Scotch  Jamie  touched 
his  hat  to  her  and  handed  a  parcel.  Seeing  her  hus- 
band's handwriting  upon  the  cover  and  suspecting  one 
of  the  surprise-gifts  he  had  a  habit  of  bestowing  upon 
her,  she  nodded  graciously  to  the  bearer,  with  a  pleas- 
ant "  Thank  you,  Jamie! "  and  bade  the  coachman 
"  Drive  on,"  as  she  sank  upon  the  yielding  cushions. 
There  were  four  seals  upon  the  wrapping  of  the  little 
bundle,  stamped  with  J  ohn  Stewart's  monogram,  and  she 
broke  them  smilingly.  Twelve  letters  dropped  out  into 
her  lap.  She  knew  them  at  a  glance,  and  with  a  stifled 
cry  of  horror,  clutched  at  a  fresher,  smoother  envel-. 
ope  directed  in  Mr.  Stewart's  hand  to  his  wife.  David 
Guild's  letter  to  him  was  folded  up  with  a  note  to  her. 

Ursula,  I  have  not  read  these,  although  bidden  to  do  so.  They  are 
yours,  not  mine.  If  what  this  man  says  is  true,  you  should  this  hour  be 
his  wife,  instead  of  in  my  home.  If  he  has  spoken  falsehood,  you  may 
give  me  the  letters  to  examine  when  I  come  in  to  dinner,  and  I  will 
answer  him  as  he  deserves.  If  you  were  indeed  engaged  to  him  when 
you  married  me,  I  desire  no  further  discussion  of  the  subject  with  him, 
or  with  you,  now  or  ever.  Words  could  not  repair  the  wrong  I  have  done 
him,  or  the  wrong  you  have  done  me.  I  still  hope  that  you  can  deny  his 
accusation  ;  shall  trust  you  until  I  learn  my  error  from  your  own  lips. 

JOHN  STEWART. 

For  one  moment  the  fortunate  mistress  of  the  finest 
mansion  and  carriage  in  the  city  thought  of  throwing 
herself  beneath  the  wheels  that  were  bearing  her  down 
the  paved  streets.  For  five  minutes  she  revolved  seri- 
ously .the  feasibility  of  writing  twelve  other  letters, 
innocent,  friendly  epistles,  to  be  slipped  into  the  en- 
velopes directed  to  Mr.  David  Guild,  the  well-to-do 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  93 

land  agent  and  speculator  she  had  thought  a  very  toler- 
able match  until  fate  threw  John  Stewart  at  her  feet. 
If  she  had  been  morally  sure  that  her  husband  had 
spoken  truth  in  asserting  that  he  had  not  read  the 
fatal — now  abhorred — love-letters  forwarded  by  the 
forsaken  swain,  she  would  have  resorted  to  this  subter- 
fuge without  a  scruple.  But  it  was  difficult  for  a  wily 
nature  to  comprehend  an  upright  one.  If  John  had 
inspected  the  contents  of  the  packet  even  partially, 
her  stratagem  would  work  out  her  more  grievous  dis- 
comfiture. 

"  The  straight  path  is  always  the  safest,"  she  uttered, 
virtuously,  and  ordered  the  carriage  homeward. 

When  there,  she  locked  herself  in  her  room  and  pro- 
ceeded to  business.  The  returned  letters  were  burned ; 
then  she  made  up  a  bundle  of  Mr.  David  Guild's  pres- 
ents, which  were  mostly  flashy  jewelry,  unworthy  of 
Mrs.  Stewart's  wearing  and  sent  it  off.  to  him  with  a 
curt  note,  stating  that  she  "  had  destroyed  all  his  notes 
and  letters  prior  to  her  marriage  to  the  man  of  her 
choice,  the  only  one  she  had  ever  truly  loved."  She 
gave  the  meddler  to  understand,  furthermore,  that 
"  his  impertinent  and  most  dishonorable  attempt  to  sow 
dissension  between  herself  and  her  honored  husband 
had  been  useless ;  had  only  cemented  the  confidence 
between  them.  She  forgave  him  freely,  however. 
She  was  too  happy  to  cherish  resentment  against  any 
living  creature,  least  of  all,  one  who  had  professed  to 
be  her  true  friend.  She  was  disappointed  and  grieved 
by  his  unkindness,  but  she  yet  remained,  with  sin- 
cere wishes  for  his  welfare  and  happiness,  his  friend, 
URSULA  STEWART." 


94  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

She  was  quite  proud  of  the  composition  in  reading 
it  over.  It  was  neat  and  magnanimous,  and  could  do 
no  harm  should  the  wretch  choose  to  send  it  to  John. 
He  was  a  wretch — a  base,  malicious  villain,  to  cause 
her  so  much  annoyance  when  she  was  so  comfortable ; 
a  jagged  gravel-stone  in  her  bed  of  roses.  She  had  not 
believed  there  were  such  cruel,  wicked  people  in  the 
world.  Of  course,  the  affair  would  blow  over,  but  there 
would  be  a  scene — apologies,  and  making-up,  and  all 
that — with  John,  and  the  sooner  it  was  gone  through 
with,  the  better.  She  dressed  herself  in  her  most  be- 
coming attire,  called  up  her  best  looks,  and  went  down 
to  meet  him  when  she  heard  his  latch-key  in  the  front 
door;  was  close  beside  him,  while  he  hung  his  hat 
upon  the  rack,  her  lips  held  up  for  the  usual  welcome 
kiss.  He  did  not  offer  it.  Putting  his  hands  behind 
him,  he  looked  down  steadfastly  at  her. 

"  Where  are  the  letters  ?  " 

"  I  have  burned  them,  John." 

"  I  understand." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  into  the  library ; 
would  have  shut  himself  in,  had  she  not  followed. 

"  What  is  it,  Ursula  ?  "  he  asked,  as  she  cast  herself 
upon  his  neck. 

"  Don't  speak  so  coldly  to  me,  John.  You  break  my 
heart,"  she  sobbed. 

He  stood  like  a  statue,  the  dry,  nervous  fingers  in- 
terlocked behind  his  back,  his  features  hard,  his  eyelids 
drooping. 

"  I  was  so  poor !  so  lonely !  "  she  went  on.  "  He 
persecuted  me  with  his  attentions,  and  I  thought  you 
were  lost  to  me  forever." 


The  Pleart  of  John  Stewart.  95 

"  It  was  true,  then,  that  when  you  married  me  you 
were  solemnly  pledged  to  him?"  he  said  in  a  harsh 
voice,  although  his  countenance  did  not  change. 

"  But  I  never  loved  him,"  cried  the  wife,  eagerly. 
"  I  knew  that  all  the  while." 

"  The  more  shame  to  you  if  that  was  so.  I  have 
heard  enough." 

He  undid  her  arms,  put  them  down  to  her  side  as  if 
she  had  been  a  lay-figure,  crossed  the  room,  and  picked 
up  the  evening  paper.  She  understood,  from  that 
instant,  that  all  efforts  to  bridge  the  gulf  would  be 
fruitless,  and  accepted  the  situation  as  she  did  all 
other  inevitable  things,  with  philosophical  grace.  She 
would  no  sooner  have  tortured  her  temper  and  sensi- 
bilities by  combating  his  fixed  purpose  than  she 
would  have  bruised  her  soft  hands  and  arms  by  beat- 
ing against  a  stone  wall. 

It  is  even  a  matter  of  doubt  whether,  as  time  wore 
on,  she  did  not  find  their  changed  manner  of  life  more 
to  her  taste  than  the  former.  She  loved  liberty  and 
luxury,  and  both  were  hers.  The  allowance  granted 
for  her  private  wants  was  munificent,  and  she  was  not 
galled  in  the  least  by  the  circumstance  that  it  was  a 
stated  sum  paid  at  regular  periods,  instead  of  the  con- 
stant outflow  of  a  lover's  bounty.  "  Mr.  Stewart  "  had 
his  apartments,  and  she  hers.  She  liked  society  ;  he  soli- 
tude. She  was  fond  of  amusements  and  gayety ;  he 
was  wedded  to  his  business.  In  short,  he  went  his 
way  and  left  her  to  hers.  She  had  found  it  "  nice  " 
to  be  adored,  but  the  present  system  had  its  advan- 
tages. It  was  not  exactly  a  cross,  when  one  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  it,  to  be  ever  ready  to  receive  and  *re- 


96  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

turn  caresses  and  love-words,  but  it  did  cost  her  some 
thought ;  was  not,  at  all  seasons,  equally  convenient. 
If  forced  to  frank  confession,  she  would  have  owned 
that  she  considered  it  sometimes  a  relief  not  to  be 
called  upon  for  demonstrations  of  affection.  They 
were  a  bit  of  a  bore  when  one  was  tired  and  dull,  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  a  trifle  absurd  in  people  of  their  age. 
Courteous  moderation  was  far  more  becoming.  That 
her  husband  suffered  more  than  herself  from  the  rup- 
ture, in  aught  save  in  wounded  pride,  did  not  occur 
to  her  as  a  subject  worthy  of  consideration.  John  was 
a  sensible  man  and  should  have  known  better  than  to 
imagine  that  a  fine  woman  like  herself  could  have  lived 
a  widow  ten  years  without  admirers.  He  ought,  if  he 
could  be  persuaded  to  regard  the  matter  in  a  proper 
light,  to  feel  flattered,  not  incensed,  that  she  threw  the 
land  speculator  overboard  for  him.  But  men  were  apt 
to  be  jealous  and  unreasonable.  She  might  thank  her 
stars  that  there  had  been  but  one  explosion.  Some 
husbands  would  have  growled  about  it  incessantly. 

They  walked  on,  then,  in  their  diverging  paths ;  he 
growing  daily  more  wealthy  and  more  reserved,  keener 
in  driving  equitable  bargains,  and  more  reticent  in  all 
pertaining  to  his  personal  affairs — "  Freezing  and  dry- 
ing up,"  his  acquaintances  repeated  concerning  him  so 
often  it  grew  into  a  by-word.  She  gained  in  popu- 
larity steadily,  and  lost  none  of  her  good  looks  with 
the  revolving  seasons  that  stole  away  the  charms  of 
many  younger  and  more  sensitive  women,  until,  on  the 
fifth  anniversary  of  their  wedding-day,  she  dropped 
dead  before  her  toilet-glass  while  arranging  her  hcad- 
dre'ss  for  a  dinner-party  at  the  house  of  a  friend. 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  97 

"  Disease  of  the  heart,"  reported  the  papers  in  their 
fulsome  eulogies  of  the  rich  man's  beautiful  wife,  and 
they  but  followed  the  lead  of  the  doctors  who  had  in- 
vestigated the  case.  John  Stewart  may  have  doubted 
the  correctness  of  the  verdict,  but  he  was  as  taciturn 
in  his  dry-eyed  mourning  as  he  had  been  during  his 
wife's  lifetime.  The  ways  of  the  household  continued 
the  same.  A  housekeeper  managed  the  servants,  did 
the  marketing,  and  looked  after  her  employer's  linen. 
His  valet,  a  gray-haired  Scotchman,  kept  his  apartments 
in  order.  He  had  no  intimate  associates,  although  he 
gave  freely  and  cheerfully  to  public  and  private  char- 
ities. The  needy  never  applied  to  him  in  vain,  but 
he  shunned  verbal  thanksgivings  as  he  did  women. 
Condolences  and  blandishments  were  alike  ineffectual 
in  drawing  him  from  his  citadel  of  dignified  indiffer- 
ence to  the  sex  who  so  pitied  his  loneliness  and  ad- 
mired his  fortune. 

*'  Freezing  and  drying  up  !  "  echoed  and  re-echoed 
his  best  friends.  He  settled  John,  Jr.,  in  business, 
and,  when  he  married,  made  his  wife  a  present  of  an 
elegant  house.  Upon  the  birth  of  John  the  third,  he 
refused  to  attend  the  christening  supper,  but  sent 
with  his  "  regret "  a  cheque  for  a  handsome  amount, 
as  a  nest-egg  for  the  boy's  fortune.  Yet  he  never 
entered  his  nephew's  house  or  saw  the  child  unless  by 
accident. 

"  He  cares  for  nothing  but  money,"  John  complained 
to  his  spouse. 

She,  justly  indignant  at  the  obstinacy  that  kept  her 
and  hers  out  of  their  own,  rejoined  :  "  And  means  to 
live  forever  to  enjoy  it,  I  verily  believe." 
5 


98  The  Heart  of  John  Stewart. 

John  Stewart  was  seventy-four  years  of  age,  when, 
slipping  upon  the  upper  step  of  the  marble  flight  lead- 
ing up  to  his  door,  on  a  sleety  night,  he  struck  his 
head  with  such  force  against  the  lower  that  he  was 
taken  up  for  dead.  He  breathed  his  last  ten  hours 
later.  He  never  spoke  after  the  hurt  was  received ; 
only  lay  with  closed  eyes,  the  thin,  gray  hands  folded 
upon  the  heart  men  said  had  frozen  and  dried  up  long, 
long  ago,  until  death  silenced  the  faint  throbbing,  and 
the  John  Stewart  Jrs.  could  come  into  their  kingdom. 

His  will  was  the  town-talk  for  the  conventional  nine 
days.  He  had  forgotten  nobody  who  had  ever  showed 
him  a  kindness,  it  seemed,  or  who  could  be  said  to 
have  the  remotest  claim  upon  his  regard  and  wealth. 
All  his  clerks,  including  Scotch  Jamie,  had  large  lega- 
cies ;  the  benevolent  institutions  of  city  and  State 
were  remembered,  with  dozens  of  his  old  pensioners, 
from  whom,  when  he  was  alive,  he  would  never  hear 
a  syllable  of  acknowledgment.  Among  the  bequests 
which  excited  wondering  comment  were  these  two : — 

"  To  David  Guild,  of ,  five  thousand  dollars, 

in  memory  of  an  unintentional  wrong  once  done  him." 

And  "To  James  Stewart  Judson,  only  child  of  my 
very  dear  friend,  George  Judson,  the  sum  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars." 

"Why,  George  Judson  died  forty  odd  years  ago  !" 
cried  the  few  who  recollected  that  such  a  man  had 
lived.  "  Who  would  have  thought  of  remembering 
him  all  this  while,  except  an-  eccentric  Scotchman  like 
Jack  Stewart,  who  never  parted  with  an  idea  when  he 
had  fairly  taken  it  up?" 

He  had  left  no  directions  concerning  his  own  tomb- 


The  Heart  of  John  Stewart.  99 

stone,  and  not  one  of  the  forty  or  fifty  legatees  felt 
himself  called  upon  to  give  of  his  newly-gotten  sub- 
stance for  the  erection  of  the  same.  In  the  shadow 
of  the  stately  shaft  that  adorns  his  wife's  resting-place 
is  a  sunken  mound,  unmarked  and  untended,  save 
when  half-witted  Jamie,  now  a  white-haired  man,  walks 
all  the  way  from  town  on  Sabbath  afternoons  in  the 
spring  and  summer  to  clip  the  tough  grass  and  leave 
a  bouquet  of  mignonette  upon  the  breast  of  his  old 
master. 

•  "  He  had  aye  a  kind  word  for  me,"  says  the  silly 
old  fellow,  when  rallied  or  questioned  upon  the  subject 
of  his  devotion.  "  He  had  a  wonderfu'  gude  heart, 
had  yon.  The  Lord  He  kenned,  and  the  angels,  and 
meself.  I  doot  if  any  ither  body  did."  . 

His  is  the  spoken  testimony  upon  this  point.  I 
wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  chronicle  in  a  worthier 
manner,  and  upon  a  more  enduring  page,  the  history 
of  the  depth,  the  constancy,  the  stainless  truth,  the 
passion,  the  patience,  and  the  pain  of  THE  HEART  of 
JOHN  STEWART. 


WALL-FLOWERS. 


PART  I. 

THE  weather  was  lovely,  even  for  mid-April — a 
southern,  not  a  northern  April — full  of  promise 
of  bloom  and  plenty  in  budding  flowers  and  fruit 
trees,  all  aglow  with  pink,  like  sunset  clouds,  or  white 
as  from  a  new  fall  of  snow.  The  March  winds  had 
piped  their  last  and  gone  to  sleep  for  twelve  months 
to  come,  and  the  sunshine — still,  bright,  beneficent — 
lay  upon  the  old  town — lay  nowhere  more  brightly 
and  warmly  than  along  a  broad,  quiet  street  lined 
with  houses,  that,  ten  years  before,  were  neat  as  well 
as  spacious  and  tenanted  each  by  the  owner  thereof. 
This  was  the  court  end  of  the  city,  and  the  denizens 
of  this  particular  block  were  some  of  the  "  best  fam- 
ilies "  in  the  State.  And  in  the  palmy  days  of  Rich- 
mond the  seven-hilled,  the  phrase  was  not  meaningless. 
In  the  sombre  mansions  over  there  on  the  sunny  side 
of  the  way,  there  used  to  be  brave  merry-makings  on 
holidays  and  family  anniversaries  of  birth  or  marriage. 
Laces  and  jewels  that  had  been  heirlooms  for  gener- 
ations were  worn  with  quiet  satisfaction  the  holders 
were  too  well-bred  to  exhibit.  There  was  abundant, 
not  ostentatious  display  of  ancient  silver  stamped 
IOI 


1 02  Wall-Flowers. 

with  crests — tankards,  goblets,  and  the  like — and 
mighty  mustering  of  courtly  "  gentlemen  of  the  old 
school,"  with  white  neckcloths  and  shaven  chins, 
smoothly-gallant  speech  and  Chesterfieldian  bows; 
and  beautiful  old  ladies  who  were  not  ashamed  to 
wear  veritable  caps  of  finest  web  over  their  own  sil- 
very hair,  and  whose  silks  were  decorous  in  fashion 
and  grave  in  hue,  as  befitted  the  autumn  of  life.  The 
sons  and  daughters  of  these  worthies  bore  well  their 
part  in  the  social  world  ;  ate  savory  meats,  drank 
costly  wines,  danced,  married,  and  were  given  in  mar- 
riage, until  the  day  that  the  war  came  and  took  the 
young  men  away,  leaving  the  maidens  to  weep  over 
the  desolation  of  their  people,  the  wasting  of  their 
pleasant  places. 

The  fire  which  was  the  finale  of  the  four  years' 
tragedy  had  spared  this  aristocratic  quarter,  and  none 
of  the  homesteads  we  speak  of  had  passed  into  the 
hands  of  aliens.  But  a  nameless  shadow  brooded  upon 
roof-trees  and  thresholds,  something  more  solemn 
than  the  decay  which  is  the  work  of  time  alone. 
Two  or  three  of  the  residents,  keenly  appreciative  of 
the  change,  yet  hardly  comprehending  in  what  it  con- 
sisted, had  tried  to  enliven  the  exterior  of  their  dwell- 
ings by  repainting  the  woodwork — window-frames, 
doors,  etc. — but  the  appearance  of  the  square  was  not 
more  cheerful  for  their  efforts.  The  other  portions  of 
the  buildings  thus  treated  looked  yet  more  dingy,  and 
their  neighbors'  domiciles  more  dreary. 

The  corner  house  had  not  been  retouched  since  the 
fearful  "  three  days "  that  enveloped  the  city  in  a 
shroud  of  pitchy  smoke,  hovering  like  a  funereal  ban- 


Wall-Flowers.  103 

ner  over  the  deserted  capital,  leaving  everywhere 
grimness  in  place  of  fairness,  burning  for  beauty,  ashes 
in  hearts  as  upon  hearthstones.  The  ornamental  iron 
lamp-posts  on  each  side  of  the  stone  steps — vestiges  of 
a  period  antedating  gas — were  broken  in  some  places 
and  red  with  rust.  The  paint  was  scaling  from  the  win- 
dow-facings and  the  double-leaved  front  door  in  un- 
sightly blotches,  as  if  the  building  had  broken  out 
with  leprosy.  The  inner  shutters,  once  white,  were 
now  a  dirty  yellow,  and  in  the  attic  story  more  than 
one  yawning  pane  bespoke  shiftlessness  or  abject  pov- 
erty. Along  the  front  of  the  first  floor  ran  a  balcony 
upon  which  opened  the  parlor  windows.  The  flooring 
was  rotten  and  discolored,  gaping  here  and  there  into 
holes ;  but  it  was  the  most  attractive  feature  of  the 
exterior,  filled,  as  it  was  from  end  to  end  with  plants 
in  pots — geraniums,  orange-trees  and  citron  aloes — 
the  only  ones  in  bloom  being  a  fine  show  of  wall-flow- 
ers, yellow  and  brown.  The  sun  warmed  them  into 
brightness  and  fragrance,  and  the  light  breeze  bore 
their  breath  into  the  room  beyond  the  gay  array. 

"  It  is  of  no  use !  "  a  young  girl  was  saying,  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  looking  despairingly 
about  her.  "  Do  what  I  will,  the  place  is  shabby  and 
mean,  even  to  my  eyes  which  are  used  to  it.  How 
much  more  " —  She  threw  her  duster  down  petulantly, 
and  sinking  upon  an  ottoman  surveyed  the  apartment 
with  a  curl  of  her  pretty  lip  in  which  real  sorrow 
blended  with  contempt. 

Yet  it  had  been  a  noble  room  in  its  day.  There 
was  melancholy  grandeur  in  the  lofty  ceilings,  defaced 
with  dust  and  dampness,  and  massive  cornices,  from 


104  Wall-Flowers. 

which  pieces  had  fallen,  and  never  been  replaced  ;  in 
the  oaken  wainscot  and  curiously-carved  mantels,  the 
arched  doorways*and  the  tarnished  frames  of  the  once 
august  line  of  old  portraits  upon  the  wall.  The  floor 
was  also  of  oak,  stanch  and  tight,  but  uncovered,  save 
for  a  faded  rug  in  front  of  the  fire-place.  The  furni- 
ture, heavy  and  dark  with  age,  yet  partook  of  the  gen- 
eral air  of  decadence.  The  upholstery  was  frayed,  and 
the  originally  warm  tints  had  degenerated  into  one 
uniform  shade  of  reddish  brown.  The  windows  were 
curtainless. 

"  If  we  had  but  white  Holland  shades,"  sighed  the 
young  lady,  "  or  hanging  baskets !  But,  dear  me  ! 
where  is  the  sense  of  talking  and  wishing?  I  might 
as  well  ask  for  Aladdin's  lamp  at  once." 

She  tapped  the  bare  floor  with  the  toe  of  a  neat 
foot,  and  looked  heartily  discontented,  thoroughly 
discouraged. 

Hers  was  a  hard  case,  but  in  that  section  of  our  land 
one  so  common  as  to  excite  little  remark.  Dandled  in 
the  lap  of  luxury  from  her  babyhood  until  she  had  passed 
her  eighteenth  year,  she  had  known  no  heavier  impo- 
sition upon  mind  and  body  than  the  usual  course  of 
study  appointed  to  damsels  of  high  degree,  until  the 
war  put  an  end  to  her  first  season  "out."  Since  then, 
to  use  her  own  phrase,  she  had  not  had  "  half  a  chance 
in  life."  Roswell  Temple,  her  father,  was  a  wealthy 
man  in  days  gone  by,  a  lawyer  by  profession,  but  had 
lived  for  years  in  elegant  leisure  upon  the  interest  of 
his  inherited  and  acquired  property.  Of  his  two  sons, 
one  had  been  slain  at  Manassas,  the  other  at  Sharps- 
burg.  Peace  found  him  impoverished,  prematurely 


Wall-Flowers.   .  105 

aged,  and  so  utterly  without  occupation  that  he  was 
obliged  to  allow  his  eldest  daughter,  a  widow,  whose 
husband  had  also  fallen  in  battle,  to  go  out  as  a  daily 
music-teacher;  his  wife  and  second  daughter  to  take 
in  sewing ;  while  Bertha,  the  youngest,  played  maid-of- 
all-work,  their  only  colored  servant  being  cook  and 
washerwoman.  None  of  them  grumbled  in  the  hearing 
of  the  others  or  of  their  neighbors,  and  their  reticence 
was  the  more  praiseworthy,  since  they  were  not  as  a 
family  what  were  called  original  secessionists.  Mr. 
Temple  had  taken  strong  ground  against  disunion 
from  the  first,  argued  in  support  of  his  views  in  pub- 
lic and  in  private,  and  the  elder  daughters  had  gone 
so  far  as  openly  to  sport  Union  colors,  until  the  fall 
of  Sumter.  But  Virginian  blood  runs  deep ;  and  the 
combat  fairly  inaugurated  upon  Virginian  soil  and 
the  sons  conscripted,  the  Temples  had  cast  in  their 
lot  with  the  Confederacy,  along  with  thousands  of 
others  as  half-hearted  in  the  cause.  They  had 
watched  the  progress  of  the  army  of  which  their 
"  boys "  made  a  part,  with  breathless  interest  ;  * 
prayed  for  victory  which  meant  their  precious  ones' 
safety ;  and  mourned  over  disaster  that  stood  almost 
as  the  synonym  of  the  young  soldiers'  death  or  cap- 
tivity. Mrs.  Temple's  carpets  and  silver  went  to  help 
defray  the  cost  of  the  later  campaigns,  and  her  hus- 
band considered  that  he  could  not  hold  back  his 
means  from  the  support  of  the  government  under 
which  he  lived. 

Bertha,  alone  of  her  name,  had  been  a  thorough 
rebel  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  needless 
strife.  Her  political  teacher  was  a  certain  Sterling 


io6  Wall-Flowers. 

Cabell,  a  law  student  at  the  university  when  hostil- 
ities began.  He  was  twenty-three,  Bertha  nineteen, 
and  there  had  existed  between  them  a  sort  of  unof- 
ficial engagement  for  more  than  a  year.  They  ex- 
changed letters  every  week,  and  for  five  months  prior 
to  the  momentous  fourteenth  of  April,  the  gentle- 
man's epistles  had  preached  in  equal  measure  of 
secession  and  love.  He  had  sprung  to  arms  with  the 
host  of  Southern  braves,  so  many  of  whom  lie  beneath 
the  sod  on  which  they  fought  ;  and  for  a  year,  as 
Bertha  stitched  army  shirts  and  wounded  her  fingers 
with  stiff  tent  cloth,  she  was  stimulated  by  the  re- 
membrance that  she  was  a  soldier's  love  and  the  hope 
of  being  a  warrior's  bride.  But  Cabell's  expected 
promotion  did  not  come.  His  patrician  shoulders 
remained  guiltless  of  straps,  and  his  stout  heart 
began  to  waver.  Not  with  doubts  of  the  justice  of 
the  cause  but  with  misgivings  as  to  the  ultimate  suc- 
cess of  the  right.  He  filled  his  letters  with  railings  at 
iniquity  and  nepotism  in  high  places,  at  unnecessary 
hardships  laid  upon  the  many  and  the  privileges  of 
the  favored  few ;  at  general  mismanagement  and  in- 
dividual corruption,  until  Bertha  felt  the  firm  earth 
changing  to  a  quicksand.  At  length,  he  obtained  an 
indefinite  leave  of  absence,  upon  the  pretext  of  vis- 
iting relatives  on  the  Eastern  shore,  and  disap- 
peared. 

Bertha  had  a  letter  from  him  by  post,  announcing 
his  departure  for  "  other  scenes  than  those  that  had 
worn  out  patience  and  hope,"  promising  to  keep  her 
informed  of  his  movements,  and  bidding  her  "trust 
in  him,  and  wait."  Then  a  year  passed — a  year  that 


Wall-Flowers.  107 

made  a  woman  of  her,  which  would  have  broken  the 
spirits  and  health  of  a  weaker  girl,  for  she  heard  not 
one  word  to  indicate  the  direction  of  his  flight,  if  he 
had  flown — only  cruel,  and  what  she  felt  were  slan- 
derous rumors  of  defection  and  desertion.  Then  a 
blockade-runner  brought  her  a  full,  she  said  a  satis- 
factory explanation  under  his  own  hand.  He  had 
been  misused,  depreciated,  kept  down,  in  the  Confed- 
erate army ;  and,  in  a  moment  of  desperation,  had 
accepted  an  invitation  from  his  maternal  uncle,  an 
affluent  New  York  citizen,  to  visit  him.  He  intended 
then  honestly  to  return  to  the  South  as  soon  as  bodily 
and  mental  vigor  was  restored  by  rest,  for  he  had 
been  brutally  overwrought  in  the  service.  Nor  had 
he  changed  his  mind.  Should  the  strife  be  prolonged 
he  would  not  be  recreant  to  the  holy  cause. 

"  Once  a  Virginian,  always  a  Virginian  !  "  he  wrote. 
"  Wherever  I  may  be,  in  heart  and  spirit  I  am  ever 
with  you  and  in  my  beloved  State.  In  the  hope  that 
I  may  be  granted  an  opportunity  of  serving  her  abroad, 
I  have  come  to  England.  My  uncle,  a  bachelor  and  a 
man  of  wealth,  taste,  and  education,  is  my  travelling- 
companion.  He  is  as  kind  to  me  as  if  he  were  my 
father  ;  but  not  this,  nor  any  other  consideration,  will 
weigh  with  me  one  instant  when  the  coveted  moment 
shall  arrive  that  opens  the  way  to  my  home,  to  glory, 
and  to  you.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  the  time  is 
not  far  distant.  Watch  for  me  !  " 

The  letter  came  to  Bertha  just  after  the  news  that 
Kidder,  her  second  brother,  had  been  left  dead  in 
Maryland. 

"  Sterling,  at  least,  is  out  of  reach  of  the  bullets," 


108  Wall-Flowers. 

she  said,  kissing  the  lifeless  sheet.  "  What  is  glory 
compared  with  life  ?  " 

A  question  echoed  by  thousands  of  other  women's 
hearts,  however  gallantly  their  owners  have  borne  up 
to  sustain  the  courage,  to  applaud  the  valor  of  lovers, 
husbands,  and  sons. 

Hopefulness  was  Nature's  best  endowment  to  her — 
a  high,  buoyant  spirit,  that  seldom  bowed,  and  that 
not  for  long.  She  put  Sterling's  letter  away  with  her 
precious  hid  treasure,  and  waited.  Another  billet — a 
mere  flag-of-truce  note,  dated  Alexandria,  Egypt,  and 
sent  under  cover  to  a  friend  in  New  York — had  reached 
her  just  before  the  conclusion  of  the  four  years'  strug- 
gle. He  was  then  on  his  way  to  the  Holy  Land  and 
did  not  expect  to  return  for  many  months.  The  war 
had  been  over  a  whole  year,  now,  and  the  card  on  the 
centre-table  behind  her  was  the  only  communication  she 
had  received  meanwhile  from  him,  who  was  never  out 
of  her  true  heart  for  an  hour.  A  colored  waiter  from 
the  Spottswood  Hotel  had  brought  it  that  morning. 

DEAR  MRS.  TEMPLE  :  With  your  permission,  my  uncle,  Mr.  Dent, 
and  myself  will  do  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  you  to-day  at 
one  o'clock  P.  M.  Sincerely, 

STERLING  CABELL. 

"  How  queer  and  formal !  "  said  Ellen  Temple.  "  To 
mamma,  too !  and  not  a  word  about  us ! "  carefully 
refraining  from  looking  at  Bertha. 

"  I  do  not  quite  comprehend  it,  my  dear,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Temple,  re-reading  the  brief  lines.  "  I  should 
have  thought  Sterling  would  feel  sufficiently  at  home 
to  come  at  once  to  us  as  he  used  to." 


Wall-Flowers.  109 

"Times  have  altered,  mother  dear,"  Bertha  re- 
sponded, gayly,  dancing  off  with  the  priceless  bit  of 
pasteboard  in  her  hand,  to  the  music  of  her  own  heart- 
beats. "  He  is  not  sure  what  reception  he  will  meet, 
yet  does  not  want  to  take  us  by  surprise,"  she  said 
to  herself,  while  she  swept  and  dusted.  "  If  he  came 
alone,  he  would  have  to  talk  to  all ;  so  he  brings  his 
uncle." 

"  Bertha ! "  Mrs.  Temple  appeared  at  the  door. 
"  Your  friends  will  dine  with  us,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Not  '  of  course,'  ma'am  ;  but  it  will  be  only  polite 
to  invite  them,  I  suppose,"  her  countenance  falling 
perceptibly.  "  In  that  case  I  shall  go  to  market. 
Father's  ideas  are  too  lordly." 

"  What  shall  we  have  ?  "  The  Temples  rarely  had 
dinner  company  now,  but  the  lady's  hospitable 
instincts  were  ready  as  ever.  "  Soup,  of  course.  Then 
for  fish,  boiled  or  baked  shad,  with  egg-sauce.  Poultry 
is  out  of  season,  but  lamb  is  in." 

Bertha  shook  her  prudent  head.  "  But  frightfully 
dear.  Beefsteak  or  mutton-chop  would  suit  our  purse 
much  better." 

"  For  a  gentleman's  dinner,  my  love  ?  " 

"  Poor  little  mother !  It  is  too  bad  I  can't  afford  to 
please  you  in  this  respect.  But  a  plain  family  dinner 
is  all  we  can  offer.  We  will  give  them  a  hearty  wel- 
come to  compensate  for  deficiencies.  For  dessert,  I 
will  have  whipped  custards  and  sponge-cake,  then 
black  coffee.  The  wine,  pastry,  olives,  and  sauces 
they  must  do  without  for  this  once.  I  dare  say  they 
have  dined  less  sumptuously  in  an  Arab  tent,  or  among 
the  Laplanders,  upon  sour  camel's  milk  and  train  oil." 


HO  Wall-Flowers. 

"  Sterling  will  be  shocked  at  finding  everything  so 
changed,"  murmured  Mrs.  Temple,  meekly  retreating. 

As  I  have  said,  audible  repining  was  tacitly  forbid- 
den by  the  family  policy,  as  were  references  to  their 
former  estate.  They  bore  their  altered  fortunes  with 
equanimity  that  would  have  excited  amazement  and 
admiration  had  this  not  also  been  the  habit  of  most  of 
their  neighbors.  They  were  conquered.  That  was 
an  accepted  fact  which  fretting  would  not  alter.  They 
must  live  by  some  means,  and  whatever  handle  came 
uppermost  was  laid  hold  of,  provided  it  was  an  honest 
livelihood  they  hoped  to  earn  by  using  it.  Necessity 
made  labor  honorable.  But  her  mother's  sigh  sank 
cuttingly  into  Bertha's  heart.  She  had  not  thought 
how  these  things  would  strike  her  lover.  She  must 
remember  that  the  experiences  which  had  modified 
her  views  upon  certain  subjects,  had  not  been  his — 
that  he  would  hardly  know  her  home  for  the  same  he 
used  to  admire.  Would  her  welcome  blind  him  to 
the  dullness  and  poverty  of  her  surroundings?  Would 
he  not  miss  the  appliances  of  wealth  and  refinement 
he  had  ever  connected  in  thought  with  her? 

"  As  if  he  didn't  know  why  our  circumstances  are 
altered  !  "  she  said,  aloud  and  rebukingly.  "  When  he 
thinks  of  this,  my  purple  calico  will  be  a  regal  robe." 

Nevertheless,  she  set  about  arranging  the  furniture 
to  the  best  advantage,  stepping  like  a  young  princess, 
to  and  fro,  and  carolling  lightly — 

"  Banish,  O  maiden,  thy  fears  of  to-morrow, 
Dash  from  thy  cheek,  love,  the  tear-drop  of  sorrow  { 
Pleasure  flies  swiftly  and  sweetly  away, 
Tears  for  to-morrow,  but  kisses  to-day  !  " 


Wall-Flowers.  in 

she  warbled,  plying  the  feather  duster  the  while, 
wheeling  straight-backed  chairs  out  of  line  with  the 
wall,  setting  the  sofas  cornerwise,  polishing  the  tall 
jars  on  the  ends  of  the  mantel,  getting  down  on  her 
knees  to  brush  the  dust  from  the  carved  legs  of  the 
piano,  and,  as  she  passed,  dropping  her  fingers  upon 
the  keys  in  a  snatched  accompaniment  to  the  rounde- 
lay. It  was  at  this  moment  that  a  gentleman  passing 
on  the  sidewalk  turned  his  head  at  the  sound  of  the 
music  and  saw  her. 

The  sun  streamed  through  an  unshuttered  side 
window,  and  glorified  her  as  she  stood  against  the 
background  of  a  dark  portrait — the  full-length  pre- 
sentment of  some  remote  ancestor — her  light  chestnut 
hair  rippling  back  from  her  white  forehead.  "  Fluffy," 
she  called  it,  because  it  would  never  lie  smooth.  It 
was  an  aureola,  now,  every  rebellious  strand  a  thread 
of  light.  Her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  cheeks  flushed, 
and  lips  smiling  apart  with  the  words  of  her  song — 

"  Tears  for  to-morrow,  but  kisses  to-day  !  " 

She  moved  away  to  a  dusty  old  cabinet,  still  singing, 
and  the  spectator,  recovering  himself  with  a  start, 
glanced  at  the  upper  windows  as  one  nervous  of  ob- 
servation, and  walked  on. 

"  Kisses  to-day  !  kisses  to-day  !  "  The  birds  twit- 
tered it  in  the  boughs  above  his  head ;  the  distant 
hum  of  the  river  pulsed  an  accompaniment  to  the 
tune  he  played  with  his  fingers  upon  the  cane  he  car- 
ried. 

"  A  pure,  rich  soprano  voice,  and  a  striking-looking 


112  Wall-Flowers. 

girl !  "  he  thought,  as  a  plausible  solution  of  the  en- 
chantment. "  This  was  doubtless  a  handsome  street 
in  former  days.  The  double  row  of  shade-trees  must 
be  very  pleasant  in  summer.  Northern  capital  is  all 
that  is  needed  to  make  the  city  the  joy  of  the  whole 
South,  as  it  is  beautiful  for  situation.  It  is  time  I 
was  making  my  way  back  to  the  hotel.  The  young 
people  have  returned  from  their  ride  by  this.  '  Kisses 
to-day  !  kisses  to-day !  "  He  broke  off  with  a  half 
laugh  as  he  detected  himself  humming  air  and  words. 
"  It  must  be  because  the  rest  of  the  world  is  so  full 
of  life  and  sunshine  that  I  am  betrayed  into  boyish 
lightness!" 

There  could  not  be  a  more  attractive  route  to  the 
lower  part  of  the  city  than  the  way  by  which  he  Had 
come,  and  this  of  necessity  led  him  past  the  balcony 
where  were  the  wall-flowers.  He  could  smell  them 
from  the  street,  the  front  yard  being  a  mere  strip, 
and,  that  he  might  inhale  the  delicious  odor  his  pace 
lagged,  and  he  looked  appreciatively  toward  the  nod- 
ding, smiling  ranks. 

She  was  busy  still,  mounted  on  an  ottoman,  dusting 
the  tinkling  pendants  of  the  old-fashioned  chandelier, 
her  round  arms  exposed  by  the  pinned-up  sleeves  of 
the  lilac  print  that  fitted  perfectly  to  the  taper  waist 
and  beautifully-molded  bust ;  her  face  upturned  and 
earnest.  But  she  was  not  singing.  Perhaps  she  would 
break  out  again,  as  a  bird  trills  after  flight,  when  she 
stepped  back  to  the  floor.  The  fragment  he  had 
caught  would  haunt  him  until  he  heard,  the  rest  of 
the  air — could  fit  the  stray  tones  together  in  his  mind. 
It  was  disagreeable  to  have  a  "  singing  in  one's  head." 


Wall-Flowers.  1 13 

He  stepped  to  the  curb-stone,  gazed  intently  up,  then 
down  the  street,  and  feigned  to  wait  for  some  one, 
striking  idly  with  his  cane  at  a  knot  of  dandelions  on 
the  edge  of  the  gutter.  The  expected  comrade  did 
not  appear,  although  he  lingered  two,  three  minutes, 
nor  did  the  songster  resume  her  strain.  When  con- 
vinced that  waiting  was  vain,  he  pursued  his  prome- 
nade, first  casting  a  final  glance  over  and  through  the 
wall-flower  hedge.  The  mute  musician  sat  on  the 
ottoman  where  she  had  stood  just  now,  her  palms 
pressed  hard  together  in  pain  or  vexation,  her  eyes  on 
the  floor — the  picture  of  mutinous  grief — in  reverie,  he 
was  sure,  for  he-could  see  that  she  was  alone. 

"  Not  all  the  tears  for  to-morrow,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
the  unseen  spectator  of  the  tableau,  and  went  on  his 
way.  "  I  am  the  richer  by  a  picture  for  the  delay,  if 
I  did  not  learn  my  song." 

Bertha  did  not  weep.  She  had  shed  all  her  tears 
during  the  war,  she  was  wont  to  say.  It  was  certain 
she  had  learned  rare  lessons  in  that  terrible  discipline 
of  life.  Crying  would  not  renovate  the  tattered  cush- 
ions or  recarpet  the  floor,  or  replenish  the  wine-vault, 
any  more  than  it  would  call  back  Maury  and  Kidder 
from  their  bloody  graves.  Repining  eased  neither 
the  greater  nor  lighter  burdens  laid  upon  the  reduced 
family.  There  was  no  harm  in  wishing  that  she  could 
give  Sterling  a  better  dinner,  and  please  his  fastidious 
eye  in  the  matter  of  furniture,  or  offer  him  a  ride  be- 
hind such  horses  as  her  father  once  kept.  There  was 
folly  in  making  of  these  inconveniences  a  sorrow. 

"  I  thought  the  Temples  had  too  much  right  pride 
to  know  false  shame !  "  she  railed  at  her  passing  weak- 


1 14  Wall-Flowers. 

ness.  "  And  that  I  had  too  much  common  sense  to  be 
wasting  time  in  useless  regrets  and  unwarrantable  fore- 
bodings, when  I  have  to  go  to  market  and  then  make 
my  custards  and  cake." 

She  went  from  the  kitchen  to  the  dining-room  and 
laid  the  table  there  before  she  dressed.  The  napery 
was  fine  and  white,  and  the  necessary  articles  of  silver- 
ware bore  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  aristocratic  anti- 
quity. But  the  old  China  and  cut-glass  being  fragile, 
were  not  a  perfect  set,  and  the  additions  made  to  it 
were  of  vastly  inferior  quality. 

"  When  I  have  put  flowers  on  the  napkins  and  a 
bouquet  in  the  center  of  the  table  where  the  t'pergne 
ought  to  be,  it  will  be  passable,"  she  reflected.  "  If  I 
had  even  small  beer  to  pour  into  the  wineglasses,  I 
would  set  them  on.  They  give  an  air  to  a  dinner 
nothing  else  can.  I  am  afraid  my  hankering  after  the 
pomps  and  vanities  is  incurable." 

And  to  show  how  sore  was  the  craving  she  sang  all 
the  way  up-stairs — 

"  Hear  me,  then,  dearest,  thy  doubts  gently  chiding, 
Know'st  thou  not  true  love  is  ever  confiding  ! 
Why  snatch  from  Cupid  his  bandage  away  ? 
Love  knows  no  morrow — then  kiss  me  to-day, 
Tears  for  to-morrow,  but  kisses  to-day  !  " 

Her  sisters  were  in  the  dressing-room  common  to 
the  three.  Mrs.  Venable  the  elder  was  eating  a  light 
luncheon  before  setting  out  upon  her  afternoon  round 
of  music-lessons.  Ellen  was  sewing.  They  exchanged 
a  meaning  but  affectionate  smile,  as  the  round,  young 
voice  preceded  the  singer  along  the  echoing  hall,  re- 
bounding clearly  from  the  uncarpeted  stairs  and  floor. 


Wall-Flowers.  \  1 5 

They  were  too  lady-like  to  banter  the  happy  girl,  but 
there  was  sympathy  with  her  gladness  in  the  tones 
and  glances  that  met  her. 

"What  will  you  wear,  dear?"  queried  Ellen,  with 
an  admiring  look  at  the  wealth  of  wavy  hair  her  sister 
shook  loose  upon  her  shoulders. 

"  I  mean  to  force  the  season  slightly  and  adorn  my- 
self in  spotless  white,"  rejoined  Bertha,  striving  vainly 
to  temper  her  sunshiny  face  into  a  pretence  of  sober- 
ness befitting  the  occasion.  "  Fortunately,  I  had  my 
white  brilliante  done  up  last  week,  cest  &  dire,  I 
ironed  it  with  my  own  fair  hands.  This  summer  glory 
puts  winter  clothing  to  shame." 

"  I  wish  one  of  you  girls  would  make  over  my  gray 
silk  and  wear  it,"  said  the  youthful  widow,  with  an 
involuntary  sigh.  "  I  shall  never  want  it  again." 

"  Ellen  must  have  it,  then,"  said  Bertha.  "  She  looks 
like  one  who  was  born  to  walk  in  silk  attire.  Wash 
dresses  suit  my  shepherdess  style — cambrics,  lawns, 
and  the  like  cheap  flimsiness." 

"  In  that  case  put  on  my  lawn,  the  one  with  the 
black  spots.  It  will  set  off  your  complexion  better 
than  that  opaque  white,"  urged  Ellen. 

Bertha's  wilful  head  was  positive.  "  I'll  be  Bertha, 
or  I'll  be  nobody !  I  am  quite  aware,  my  dear  girls, 
that  I  shall  not  be  stylish — possibly  not  handsome,  in 
my  year-old  brilliante,  but  it  is  mine,  and  on  it  goes ! " 

She  was  Bertha,  and  nobody  else,  but  she  was  hand- 
some when  she  tripped  down  to  the  visitors  at  the 
appointed  time.  She  could  not  be  coy  and  stiffly 
proper  when  she  had  once  heard  Sterling  ask  if  the 
ladies  were  at  home,  but  followed  closely  upon  the 


ii6  Wall-Flowers. 

heels  of  the  servant  who  admitted  them.  She  had 
not  seen  him  in  three  years. 

Seen  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  shaded  hall  and 
framed  by  the  arched  doorway,  with  her  crown  of 
bright  hair,  a  bunch  of  purple  pansies  nestling  in  it,  a 
cluster  of  wall-flowers  and  geranium-leaves  in  her 
brooch,  and  the  simple  white  dress  bound  at  the  waist 
with  a  lilac  ribbon  ;  with  her  smiling  mouth  and  large, 
eager  eyes,  she  was  a  picture  that  seized  the  fancy  of 
one  of  the  inmates  of  the  parlor  ;  perhaps  surprised 
the  other  into  a  warmer  greeting  than  expediency 
would  have  dictated. 

"  Bertha  !  "  said  the  voice  she  remembered  so  truly, 
the  intonations  malicious  people  deemed  affectedly 
languid — which  she  thought  peculiarly  winning  in 
their  quiet,  gentle  manliness ;  and  her  hand  lay  in  a 
close  pressure  that  could  only  mean  fondness.  "  Al- 
low me  to  present  my  uncle  Mr.  Dent." 

The  reminder  of  the  presence  of  a  third  person  was 
not  amiss,  for  there  was  mist  in  the  wistful  eyes,  and 
her  lips  could  not  frame  the  welcome  her  heart  would 
have  given.  In  bowing  to  the  uncle,  her  sight  returned 
and  her  hysterical  tendency  abated.  This  was  not 
the  time  or  place  for  loverly  reminiscences  or  raptures. 
She  must  content  herself  with  the  consciousness  that 
he  was  here  again  and  hers.  It  was  Sterling — the  im- 
passioned wooer  of  her  girlhood,  the  beloved  of  these 
long  years  of  waiting — who  stood  before  her.  That 
is,  those  were  Sterling's  eyes  and  he  spoke  with  Ster- 
ling's voice.  But  the  foreign  cut  of  his  beard,  his 
fashionable  attire — only  one  remove  from  dandyism  in 
such  items  as  jewelled  studs  and  the  ring  on  his  little 


Wall-Flowers.  IT/ 

finger,  the  patent-leather  boots  and  exquisite  cravat — 
the  gravely  courteous  air  with  which  he  turned  from 
her  to  his  companion,  these  were  strange  and  puzzling. 
Was  it  because  he  had  been  away  so  long,  or  were 
they  mannerisms  engrafted  upon  the  original  stock — 
dainty  exotics  with  which  :he  had  nothing  to  do? 
She  was  not  chilled.  That  would  have  been  childishly 
unreasonable,  since  she  had  not  expected  a  tender 
greeting  in  the  circumstances.  But  her  face  was  less 
sunny  as  she  took  her  seat.  It  chanced  to  be  nearer 
the  uncle  than  the  nephew,  and  she  was  prompt  in 
accosting  him  to  avoid  a  pause  she  knew  would  be 
filled  for  her,  with  memories  dangerous  to  composure. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  our  city  before,  Mr. 
Dent?" 

It  was  trite  and  flat,  but  she  must  say  something, 
and  ideas  did  not  rally  readily.  There  was  less  risk 
in  meeting  the  stranger's  eyes  than  those  she  fancied 
were  seeking  to  read  hers.  Very  expressive  eyes  they 
were  which  she  met,  and  met  full,  with  a  sort  of  elec- 
tric start  as  she  spoke.  Not  remarkably  fine  in  color 
or  shape,  but  honest  and  penetrating,  and  alive  with 
interest  in  herself  she  could  not  mistake,  or  interpret 
to  her  satisfaction,  unless  Sterling  had  told  him  all 
about  her.  She  blushed  at  the  thought,  and,  oddly 
enough,  a  responsive  tinge  glowed  in  Mr.  Dent's  com- 
plexion. 

"  Once — many  years  since,"  he  answered. 
*  "  Before  '  Ichabod  '  was  written  upon  our  homes?" 
she  finished  the  sentence  for  him.     Then,  turning  to 
Sterling  with  a  mournful  smile,  "  You  would  hardly 
have  known  it,  would  you  ?  " 


ii8  Wall-Flowers. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  the  general  features  of  the  place  are  the 
same,  although  some  of  the  ancient  landmarks  have 
been  somewhat  unceremoniously  removed.  The  con- 
flagration was  the  parting  feu  de  joie  of  my  ancient 
comrades,  I  have  been  told.  A  salute  with  which  the 
citizens  could  have  dispensed." 

He  spoke  with  easy  grace,  but  Bertha  bit  her  lip  at 
the  flippant  reply.  It  is  long  after  a  wound  has 
skinned  over  before  one  can  bear  the  touch  of  a  care- 
less hand.  Did  he  know  that  he  jested  at  her  father's 
ruin  ? 

Mr.  Dent  took  up  the  word.  "  Fortunately,  noth- 
ing can  mar  the  beauty  of  your  natural  situation. 
Richmond  must  ever  sit  a  queen  while  her  hills  stand 
and  the  river  flows  at  their  base." 

"Zenobia's  robes  need  cleansing  badly,"  laughed 
Cabell.  "  I  have  been  rubbing  my  eyes  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  muttering  the  old  couplet — 

"  The  streets  are  narrow  and  the  buildings  mean. 
Did  I,  or  Fancy,  leave  them  broad  and  clean  ?  " 

"  We  have  passed  through  many  and  grievous  storms 
since  you  left  us."  The  sensitive  mouth  quivered 
until  Mr.  Dent,  compassionately  looked  another  way. 
Then  Bertha  arose  abruptly.  "  If  you  will  excuse  me, 
I  will  tell  my  mother  that  you  are  here." 

"  As  I  feared,  this  is  an  awkward  business,"  said  the 
younger  man,  sotto  voce,  and  stifling  a  yawn.  "  And 
if  embarrassing  to  me,  how  much  more  it  must  be  to 
them — this  meeting  in  such  altered:  circumstances. 
You  cannot  imagine  what  a  fine  old  house  this  used 
to  be  and  how  they  lived.  It  gives  me  the  blues  to 


Wall-Flowers. 


119 


think  of  it.  I  almost  wish  I  had  spared  them  the 
trial — left  town  without  calling." 

This,  lying  lazily  back  on  the  sofa,  where  he  used 
to  sit  with  Bertha  in  those  other  days.  The  uncle 
tapped  his  boot  thoughtfully  with  his  cane  and  said 
nothing. 

"  She  is  a  pretty  girl  still,  though,  and  she  would  be 
stylish  if  she  were  fashionably  dressed.  Don't  you 
think  so,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes !  "  drily  or  indifferently. 

Mrs.  Temple's  entrance  ended  the  tete-a-tete.  A 
lovely  old  lady  in  mourning  that  would  have  been 
shabby  on  nine  women  out  of  ten.  If  she  had  worn 
linsey  woolsey  she  would  have  dignified  it  into  attire 
becoming  a  gentlewoman. 

"  My  dear  Sterling  !  "  she  said,  affectionately.  "  We 
are  rejoiced  to  see  you  again  after  this  long  sad  separa- 
tion. And  you  are  welcome,  sir ! "  putting  her  small 
hand  into  Mr.  Dent's. 

He  bent  the  lower  over  it,  for  feeling  how  toil- 
hardened  was  the  palm,  for  seeing  the  needle  pricks 
on  the  forefinger  of  the  left.  Bertha  brought  in  Ellen 
before  their  mother  was  seated,  and  the  conversation 
became  general.  There  was  a  little  clever  manoeuvring 
on  the  part  of  the  parent  and  second  daughter  to  seat 
the  whilome  lovers  together,  but  it  was  abetted  by 
neither  of  the  interested  parties,  and  failed  ignomini- 
ously.  Bertha  resumed  her  place  near  Mr.  Dent  and 
began  to  talk — not  fast,  but  steadily — only  her  restless 
eyes  and  varying  color  testifying  to  excitement  of  any 
description.  In  no  wise  discomfitted  by  the  fact  that 
^she  did  not  cast  a  glance  in  his  direction,  Mr.  Cabell 


I2O  Wall-Flowers. 

played  the  agreeable  to  the  other  ladies  in  the  most 
approved  manner  of  the  nil  admirari  school. 

He  was  rather  above  the  medium  height,  with  trim 
hands  and  feet;  dark  blue  eyes,  a  straight,  longish 
nose,  small  mouth,  and  drooping  moustache.  His 
whiskers  were  of  the  English  mutton-leg  pattern,  and 
his  brown  hair  was  parted  down  the  back  of  his  head. 
His  voice,  a  good  tenor  in  singing,  was  somewhat 
effeminate  in  conversation.  "A  love  of  a  man!" 
cried  enthusiastic  and  musical  misses.  "  His  manners 
are  perfect ! "  pronounced  the  mammas.  And  when 
bigger  men  with  bass  voices  hinted  that  he  "  did  well 
enough  "  physically  and  mentally — "  what  there  was 
of  him  " — rosy  lips  hissed,  indignant  orbs — gray,  black, 
and  blue — flashed  the  traducers  into  silence. 

Such  as  he  was,  he  had  been  Bertha  Temple's  demi- 
god for  six  years  and  the  habit  of  worship  was  not  to 
be  unlearned  in  an  hour.  If  this  had  been  possible 
the  sudden  death  of  love  would  have  been  agony  ex- 
ceeding even  that  of  the  suffocating  heartache  she  was 
enduring  without  flinching  from  her  attitude  of  civil 
attention  to  her  stranger  guest.  Ellen  wondered 
silently  if  her  sister  were  really  as  much  interested  as 
she  seemed  to  be  in  what  Sterling's  uncle  was  saying, 
and  guessed,  in  her  shrewd  soul,  that  Bertha  would 
have  lent  less  diligent  heed  had  not  her  fellow  collo- 
quist  been  her  lover's  near  relative.  They  did  not 
look  at  all  alike.  Mr.  Dent  was  tall  and  dark,  with 
hazel  eyes,  a  square  chin,  and  a  mouth  that  was  very 
grave  and  firm  when  at  rest,  very  pleasant  when  he 
smilqpl.  His  hair  and  whiskers  had  a  few  gray  hairs 
scattered  through  them,  but  he  was  very  unlike 


Wall-Flowers.  121 

Bertha's  preconceived  ideal  of  the  bachelor  guardian 
of  her  errant  knight.  He  talked  well  and  with  cour- 
tesy as  simple  as  his  nephew's  was  elaborate.  The 
latter  never  forgot  himself  and  the  probable  effect  his 
charms  were  producing.  His  elder  seemed  uncon- 
scious that  he  had  any  especial  claim  upon  the  atten- 
tion and  regard  of  the  ladies  with  whom  he  conversed. 
Bertha  did  not  make  these  observations  in  the  course 
of  this  visit.  A  galvanized  manikin  would  have  served 
her  purpose  as  well  as  he  did.  She  must  talk  at  some- 
thing that  could  reply  at  decent  intervals,  steady  her 
gaze  upon  a  human  face  instead  of  staring  into 
vacancy,  lest  lookers-on  should  suspect  the  rack  upon 
which  she  was  stretched. 

Her  eyes  darkened  several  times  when  Sterling's 
well-modulated  laugh  reached  her  ears,  and  when,  at 
the  end  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  he  straightened 
his  graceful  form  to  the  full  measure  of  his  manly 
stature,  and  reminded  his  senior,  deferentially,  as  be- 
came his  youth  and  wardship,  that  they  were  to  say 
"  farewell  "  to  a  party  of  fellow-tourists  who  expected 
to  take  a  Petersburg  train  at  three  o'clock,  Bertha 
turned  majestically  upon  him,  in  rising  with  the  rest, 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  looked  down  upon 
him.  Not  that  she  was  physically  taller,  but  the  calm 
disdain  of  brow  and  lip,  the  superb  hauteur  of  the 
head  and  figure  dwarfed  him  by  comparison.  He  did 
not  feel  it.  The  Colossus  of  Rhodes  could  not  have 
frowned  him  into  a  pigmy  in  his  own  estimation ;  but 
from  their  different  points  of  view,  the  Temples 
thought  how  insignificant  he  appeared,  and  Mr.  Dent 
said,  within  his  heart,  that  this  plainly-clad  girl 
6 


1 2  2  Wall-Flowers. 

was  an  empress  in  her  own  right  in  beauty  and  breed- 
ing. 

"  We  had  hoped  you  would  dine  with  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Temple,  who  could  not  forget  how  she  had  loved  the 
boy  who  had  been  as  free  to  come  and  go  in  her  house 
as  her  own  sons.  "  We  old-fashioned  people  are  not 
satisfied  with  these  brief  calls.  Come  back  to  us  when 
you  have  seen  your  friends  off.  Mr.  Temple  will  be 
bitterly  disappointed  if  you  do  not.  We  dine  at 
four." 

Bertha  was  silent,  and  her  face  a  blank  page.  At 
heart,  she  wished  that  all  this  was  over.  Having 
learned  from  Mr.  Dent  that  he  and  his  nephew  had 
been  two  days  in  the  city  already,  she  could  not  be- 
lieve that  Sterling  would  be  anxious  to  comply  with 
her  mother's  request.  Two  days,  and  this  was  his  first 
call! 

"  Mr.  Dent  shall  decide ! "  said  Sterling,  blandly. 
"  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  the  Edwardses  will  expect 
to  see  us  at  the  table  d'hote  as  usual  ?  Would  it  be 
quite  polite  to  desert  them  after  travelling  with  them 
for  so  long  ?  And  we  have  engaged  a  carriage  for 
Hollywood  at  five." 

"  You  can  be  released  at  that  time."  Mrs.  Temple 
would  not  see  Bertha's  deprecatory  gesture.  "  The 
day  of  six  and  eight  course  dinners  is  among  the 
things  that  were  with  us.  But  we  shall  be  delighted 
if  you  will  partake  of  our  family  fare." 

"  We  accept  your  invitation  gratefully,  madam." 
The  frank  phrase  and  clear  voice  were  the  uncle's. 
"  Provided — unless  it  be  ungracious  to  couple  with  a 
proviso  consent  that  brings  us  pleasure — provided 


Wall-Flowers.  \  23 

the   young  ladies  will  afterward  accompany  us  in  our 
ride." 

Before  separating  in  the  evening  on  their  return 
from  the  excursion  to  the  cemetery  other  plans,  rides, 
and  walks  were  proposed,  most  of  them  by  Mr.  Dent, 
whose  desire  to  know  Richmond  and  its  environs  well 
was  explained  by  his  nephew  aside  to  Ellen  Temple, 
as  they  stood  together  on  the  highest  hill  of  Hollywood 
overlooking  the  river  and  town. 

"  My  uncle  has  fallen  in  love  with  your  city,"  he 
said,  patronizingly.  "  I  am  somewhat  surprised  at  his 
open  admiration  of  climate  and  situation,  for  he  has 
been  a  great  traveller.  He  is  a  wealthy  banker,  as  you 
doubtless  know,  and  one  of  the  objects  of  his  visit 
here  is  to  invest  in  land  in  the  surrounding  country 
and  in  city  property,  which,  we  hear,  is  very 
low." 

"So  like  a  Yankee!"  said  quick-tempered  Ellen, 
that  night,  in  repeating  this  to  her  eldest  sister.  "  I 
felt  like  telling  him  so,  then  and  there.  It  sickens  me 
to  see  the  swarm  of  tourists  scrambling  over  and  among 
our  ruins.  One  text  is  continually  in  my  mind  when 
I  notice  how  curious  they  are  in  prying  into  our  pov- 
erty and  wretchedness :  «  Nay,  but  to  spy  out  the 
nakedness  of  the  land  ye  are  come.'  I  could  not  help 
repeating  it  to  Sterling  Cabell." 

"What  did  he  say?"  Mrs.  Venable  smiled,  evi- 
dently pleased  at  the  ready  reply,  whatever  may  have 
been  her  opinion  as  to  her  sister's  indiscretion. 

"  He  only  laughed  in  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  way.  I 
believe  he  thought  I  was  jesting.  Bertha !  " 

"  Well  ?  "     Bertha  sat  in  the  wide  window-seat,  her 


124  Wall-Flowers. 

face  toward  the  street,  and  answered  without  looking 
around. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  bed  to-night?" 

"  It  is  too  warm  and  close  to  sleep." 

"  What  are  you  doing  there?" 

"  Listening  to  the  river  and  enjoying  the  fragrance 
of  the  wall-flowers  in  the  balcony,"  she  returned,  in 
feigned  lightness. 

"  'Music,  moonlight,  love,  and  flowers,'  " 

hummed  Ellen,  as  she  brushed  out  her  hair. 

"  Precisely!"  with  a  short  laugh. 

The  others  were  asleep  before  long,  and  she  could 
muse  uninterrupted  ;  hear  in  the  song  of  the  river  the 
story  of  the  days  whose  "  tender  grace  "  she  had  be- 
lieved would  be  a  joy  forever  ;  think  of  him,  whose 
favorite  flower  she  had  cultivated  during  all  these 
years  of  hoping  and  waiting,  He  loved  it,  he  said, 
because  it  was  like  her,  brave,  sweet,  and  bright ;  wear- 
ing her  fairest  smile,  shedding  her  choicest  virtues  in 
her  home.  She  had  worn  it  to-day  for  that  reason, 
and  no  other.  She  had  not  put  flowers  in  her  hair  and 
dress  before  since  her  brothers  died — the  noble  bro- 
thers whose  names  he  had  not  mentioned  close  as 
was  the  friendship  between  the  three.  And  pansies, 
because  he  used  to  declare  that  their  purple  velvet 
was  like  her  eyes  when  she  was  earnest  in  speech,  or 
deep  in  thought.  How  often  she  had  pushed  his  hand 
laughingly  away  when  he  held  one  of  the  richest  and 
darkest  to  her  face,  that  he  might  see  how  nearly  it 
matched  her  irids  !  He  remembered  nothing  of  this. 


Wall-Flowers. 


125 


They  had  met  and  looked  in  each  other's  faces,  and 
talked  like  mere  acquaintances.  The  affection  that  had 
leaped  up,  a  laughing,  eager  fountain,  to  hail  his  com- 
ing, had  fallen  back  from  a  rock. 

"  And  I  did  believe  in  him,  as  he  bade  me,  did  hope 
to  find  him  the  same ! "  moaned  the  unhappy  child, 
rocking  herself  back  and  forth  like  one  in  mortal  pain. 
"  Oh,  my  lost  faith  !  my  beautiful  dead  dream  !  " 


PART   II. 

"  THE  Torreys  are  in  Charleston,  sir,"  remarked 
Sterling  Cabell  to  his  uncle  one  morning  as  they  ex- 
amined their  early  mail  together  in  the  room  of  the 
latter. 

"  Ah  !  "  interestedly.  "  They  went  by  sea,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  had  a  delightful  passaere.  arriving 
there  last  Wednesday." 

"  This  is — what  ?     Saturday,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Cabell  smiled.  "  It  is.  Your  ten  days  in  Richmond 
have  been  as  profitably  as  pleasantly  spent,  if  Young 
speaks  truly  respecting  the  note  we  take  of  time." 

"The  Torreys  are  well,  I  hope?"  seeming  not  to 
have  heard  his  nephew's  observation. 

"  Quite  well,  and  anxious  that  we  should  join  them 
in  Charleston  or  Mobile.  The  season  is  advancing  so 
rapidly  they  fear  to  protract  their  tour  many  more 
days." 

Mr.  Dent  did  not  reply.  He  was  replenishing  with 
fresh  water  a  wineglass  on  the  mantel,  which  held  a 
spray  of  wall-flower  and  one  of  citron-aloes  he  had 
begged  from  Bertha  Temple  the  evening  before.  When 
it  was  full  he  stopped  to  inhale  the  odor  with  marked 
gratification. 

"  The  combination  of  perfumes  is  singularly  delight* 
126 


Wall-Flowers.  127 

ful,"  said  he,  musingly,  rather  to  himself  than  his  com- 
panion. "  Miss  Ellen  was  explaining  to  me,  last  night, 
the  art  of  arranging  bouquets  with  reference  to  fra- 
grance, instead  of  color.  Her  sister  is  proficient  in  it, 
she  says.  She  divides  perfumes  into  two  classes — the 
active  and  passive.  The  wall-flower  is  a  sample  of  the 
last — the  citron-aloes  of  the  more  lively  and  spicy 
kind.  The  idea  was  new  and  attractive  to  me." 

A  shade  of  vexation  crossed  Cabell's  face.  But  he 
held  his  tongue  in  with  the  bit  of  expediency  and  the 
bridle  of  self-interest.  His  demeanor  to  the  rich  bach- 
elor was  a  model  to  penniless  and  enterprising  expec- 
tants— never  sycophantic,  yet  never  inconsiderately 
frank. 

"  What  answer  had  I  better  return  ?  "  he  ventured, 
presently,  after  allowing  a  reasonable  time  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  his  relative's  floral  enthusiasm. 

"  To  the  Torreys,  do  you  mean  ?  "  Mr.  Dent  set 
dowTi  the  tiny  vase,  and  awoke.  "  It  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  continue  our  tour  in  company — but  I  really  do 
not  see  how  I  can  leave  Richmond  yet.  I  am  in 
treaty,  through  Mr.  Temple,  for  that  property  on 
Main  Street,  and  I  promised  moreover  to  ride  up  to 
Sydney,  and  out  upon  the  Grove  Road  with  him, 
Monday,  to  'prospect'  a  little.  He  thinks  the  city  is 
destined  to  grow  fastest  in  that  direction ;  and,  from 
what  I  have  seen,  I  am  disposed  to  believe  it.  If  I 
had  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  invest  in  land  to- 
morrow, I  could  hardly  do  better  than  to  lay  it  all 
out  here.  The  returns  would  not  be  immediate,  but 
they  would  be  sure.  The  day  is  coming  when  this 
will  be  one  of  the  chief  manufacturing  cities  in  the 


128  Wall-Flowers. 

Union.  And  as  a  place  of  residence  its  attractions 
are  not  to  be  surpassed." 

Sterling,  bored  and  impatient,  only  dared  express 
his  sensations  by  rustling  the  open  letter  which  was 
in  a  lady's  hand.  He  had  no  objection  to  his  uncle's 
investing  in  anything  that  would  pay  well  in  a  few 
years,  by  the  time  he — the  heir  apparent — should 
come  to  his  own ;  but  he  was  not  especially  interested 
in  the  details  of  these  transactions  ;  had  little  taste  for 
business,  although  a  partner  in  the  firm  of  Dent  &  Co. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  the  correctness  of  your  views,  sir," 
he  replied.  "  And  Mr.  Temple  is  a  safe  guide  in  such 
speculations  here.  Shall  I  set  the  middle  of  the 
week,  then,  as  the  time  of  our  departure — if  the  Tor- 
reys  can  wait  for  us  so  long?  Or,  had  we  better 
abandon  the  idea  of  reunion  entirely?  " 

Something  in  the  cadence  of  his  inquiry  caught 
Mr.  Dent's  ear.  He  looked  around  quickly — an  ex- 
pression of  paternal  kindness  and  lively  sympathy  in 
eye  and  half-smile. 

"  Abandon  it  ?  By  no  means,  my  boy !  I  have 
been  se4fish  in  keeping  you  in  close  attendance  until 
now.  If  I  have  appeared  to  forget  that  others  had 
claims  upon  you,  forgive  me.  I  cannot  travel  again 
immediately  as  you  perceive.  But  I  am  comfortable 
and  content  in  this  place.  I  have  a  capital  hotel,  and 
acquaintances  and  biisiness  to  hinder  the  time  from 
hanging  upon  my  hands.  You  must  go  on — say  by 
Monday  morning's  train,  and  join  our  friends.  I  will 
meet  you  when  and  where  I  can — probably  in  New 
Orleans.  I  have  already  seen  njpst  of  the  gulf  cities. 
They  have  not  changed  much  siffce  the  war,  I  imagine. " 


Wall-Flowers.  129 

Sterling  demurred  very  handsomely,  evincing  just 
enough  pleasure  at  the  proposal  to  confirm  the  other 
in  his  resolution  to  carry  it  out. 

"  Give  me  credit  for  a  moderate  share  of  pene- 
tration," he  said,  with  the  same  kindly  gleam  of  hu- 
mor. "  If  I  have  not  spoken  to  you  openly  of  my 
surmises,  it  has  not  been  because  I  did  not  like  the 
signs  of  the  times ;  that  I  have  not  felicitated  myself 
sincerely  upon  the  anticipation  of  having  the  fair 
Imogen  as  a  niece-in-law.  I  took  it  for  granted  that 
I  should  be  taken  into  your  counsels  when  the  right 
time  came." 

"You  are  very  good,  sir."  Sterling  was  pleased  in 
a  rational  way,  but  not  fluttered  to  nervousness  by 
the  discussion  of  the  delicate  topic.  "  I  have  not 
told  you,  in  so  many  words,  what  were  my  intentions 
and  my  hopes,  because  I  had  not  the  lady's  sanction 
to  such  a  procedure  until  this  morning.  This  letter — 
the  answer  to  one  which  met  her  in  Charleston — em- 
powers me  to  announce  our  engagement  to  you  and 
bespeak  a  welcome  for  her." 

"  Engagement*!  I  was  hardly  prepared  to  hear  that 
everything  was  already  settled.  But  I  am  heartily 
glad  !  "  shaking  his  nephew  by  both  hands.  "  You 
are  a  wise  man — a  very  wise  and  happy  man  to  marry 
in  your  youth.  Not  that  the  heart  must  of  necessity 
grow  old  as  the  frost  falls  upon  the  hair,  but  think  of 
the  fifteen  or  twenty  years  of  bliss  one  loses  by  wait- 
ing until  he  is  my  age  before  he  has  a  home  of  his 
own.  The  probability  is  then  fearfully  against  his 
ever  having  one." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  were  a  septuagenarian,  in- 
6* 


130  Wall- Flowers. 

stead  of  being  in  the  hey-day  of  health  and  life,"  said 
the  courtier.  "  Your  heart  is  greener  than  mine,  to- 
day. If  I  were  a  woman,  I  would  rather  have  the 
love  of  mature  years — the  esteem  oLsound  judgment 
than  the  idle  fancy  of  adolescence.  The  difference  is 
that  between  ripened  and  green  fruit.  The  memory 
of  my  boyish  love  sets  my  teeth  on  edge.  I  wonder, 
sometimes,  if  the  partner  in  the  pretty  folly  feels  as 
heartily  ashamed  of  it  as  I  do  ?  " 

He  laughed — the  well-bred  token  of  amusement 
that  always  chilled  Bertha  with  the  idea  that  a  cur- 
rent of  derision  underran  the  ripple. 

"You  have  arrived  at  years  of  discretion  now,  at  any 
rate — have  proved  the  soundness  of  your  judgment  by 
deeds,  not  words,"  responded  Mr.  Dent.  "  But  do  not 
despise  your  youth.  Maturity  may  be  green  and  vigor- 
ous, but  never  dewy.  Should  I  be  disposed  to  marry, 
I  should  not  like  to  mate  with  a  middle-aged  spinster, 
still  less  with  a  widow.  And  a  young  girl  would  pre- 
fer a  swain  nearer  twenty  than  forty." 

"  Cela  dfyend"  said  Cabell  flatteringly.  "  We  young- 
sters would  fare  badly  were  you  to  take  the  field  against 
us.  Perhaps,  if  the  truth  were  known,  I  am  a  debtor 
to  your  forbearance.  Imogen  has  a  hearty  and  affec- 
tionate appreciation  of  your  merits." 

This  lightly,  yet  with  no  touch  of  irony. 

"  We  visit  the  battle-grounds  at  the  Chickahominy, 
to-day,"  was  Mr.  Dent's  next  observation,  after  a  survey 
of  his  pocket-tablets.  "  Mrs.  Venable  takes  Miss  Ellen's 
place.  She  cannot  go  conveniently  on  any  day  bu£ 
Saturday,  on  account  of  her  music  scholars." 

"Why    not    Bertha's    place,    instead  of   Ellen's?" 


Wall-Flowers.  131 

interrogated  Cabell,  involuntarily,  with  a  slight 
frown. 

"The  arrangement  is  their  own,"  stiffly.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  added,  as  if  ashamed  of  the  trifling  asperity, 
"  I  gave  the  invitation  to  Miss  Bertha  for  herself  and 
sister.  She  doubtless  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  transfer 
it.  We  leave  at  ten.  I  am  sorry  this  is  the  last  excur- 
sion you  will  make  with  us.  The  past  week  has  been 
a  genuine  holiday  with  me.  I  shall  always  be  grateful 
to  you  for  introducing  me  to  these  your  friends,  and 
now  mine." 

He  hesitated,  as  if  about  to  say  more,  but  the  action 
was  unnoticed  by  Cabell  who  had  already  commenced 
a  letter  to  his  betrothed. 

An  elegant  epistle  it  was — gossipy,  with  a  piquant 
flavor  of  satirical  mention  of  people  and  things  ;  a  neat 
phrase  of  affection  dovetailed  in  here  and  there.  It 
commenced  :  "  My  dearest  Imogen,"  and  concluded 
with,  "  Yours  faithfully,  Sterling  Cabell." 

At  the  same  hour,  Bertha  was  locked  within  her 
chamber,  bent  upon  a  deed  she  had  meditated  from 
the  mid-April  day  that  had  opened  all  her  wall-flowers 
and  brought  the  cards  of  uncle  and  nephew  to  her  door. 
A  carved  chest  of  dark  wood  lined  with  velvet — the 
legacy  of  an  old  relic-loving  aunt — was  open  upon 
the  floor,  and  beside  it  a  heap  of  letters  and  notes,  a 
photograph  of  a  beardless  youth  with  a  Byronic  collar, 
and  of  the  same  person  fiercely  moustachioed  and  wear- 
ing the  uniform  of  the  C.  S.  A. — both  cartes,  after  the 
manner  of  their  kind,  shot  with  yellow  streaks,  an  in- 
curable jaundice  very  unbecoming  to  the  pictured  face. 
There  were  dried  flowers  in  profusion ;  one  bouquet  of 


132  Wall-Flowers. 

wall-flowers  and  moss-rosebuds  tied  with  white  ribbon, 
and  another  of  pressed  pansies  glued  upon  a  card  with 
an  illuminated  border ;  a  pearl  and  gold  paper-cutter, 
and  divers  books,  chiefly  poetry,  with  nameless  trifles, 
presented  by  Sterling — the  usual  assortment  to  be 
found  in  such  collections. 

"  Of  no  value  except  to  the  owner."  Often  never 
more  valuable  than  when  they-  are  packed  away  in 
silence  and  tears  to  be  returned  to  the  giver.  Bertha 
bestowed  upon  her  souvenirs  no  baptism  of  tears. 
One  by  one  they  were  laid  in  a  wooden  box,  set  side 
by  side  with  the  ancient  casket  ;  handled  softly,  some- 
times lingeringly,  as  one  lays  his  hand  upon  the  mar- 
ble brow  of  wife  or  child  before  the  coffin-lid  shuts 
over  it.  Each  had  its  label— the  date  and  place  of 
presentation  written  and  affixed  by  herself.  When- 
ever it  could  be  done  without  defacing  the  gift,  this 
was  removed.  Appeal  to  the  past  would  avail  noth- 
ing. Had  it  been  otherwise,  she  would  have  withheld 
it  all  the  same.  It  was  useless  to  blow  upon  cold 
ashes. 

Very  live  coals  had  Sterling's  flame  been,  if  his 
letters  at  that  epoch  were  to  be  accepted  as  testimony 
of  his  ardor.  The  fair  Imogen  would  have  thought 
him  demented  had  he  indited  such  rhapsodies  to  her. 
Bertha,  when  all  was  done,  sat  down  by  the  packing- 
case —  sarcophagus,  if  you  will  —  and,  leaning  her 
elbow  upon  it,  read  over  one  and  another  of  these 
compositions.  Words  of  endearment  and  vows  of 
eternal  constancy  were  sown  along  the  crowded  pages 
as  thick  as  stars  in  the  milky  way.  An  unofficial 
engagement,  I  called  it,  I  believe,  a  little  way  back. 


Wall-Flowers.  133 

That  it  was  not  formal,  binding,  irrevocable,  was  not 
the  gentleman's  fault.  That  these  indiscreet  docu- 
ments did  not  ruin  his  prospects  with  his  uncle  and 
his  bride-elect,  he  owed  to  the  delicacy  and  true 
womanliness  of  her  he  had  deserted  without  a  show 
of  courteous  renunciation.  He  had  counted  upon 
these ;  for  he  estimated  her  pride  aright,  however  he 
may  have  misprized  her  love.  Breach-of-promise 
suits  were  unheard  of  in  the  class  to  which  she  be- 
longed, and  she  had  no  brothers  to  take  up  her  cause. 
After  all,  the  worst  that  could  be  said  of  him,  if  the 
affair  took  wind,  was  that  he  had  got  over  a  boyish 
fancy  quietly — and  because  quietly — handsomely. 
There  had  been  no  definite  mention  of  marriage 
between  them,  although  of  love-talk  much.  He  was 
hampered  by  no  actual  betrothment  when  he  con- 
sulted his  inclination  and  interest,  and  addressed 
Miss  Torrey.  She  was  an  heiress  in  her  own  right, 
an  orphan  resident  with  her  married  brother,  but  her 
wealth  was  not  her  only  recommendation  to  the  fas- 
tidious Southron's  favor.  Accomplished,  sprightly 
and  fashionable,  she  was  a  notable  figure  in  society. 
The  world  had  set  its  stamp  of  approval  upon  her, 
decided  that  her  husband  would  be  a  lucky  fellow. 
She  reminded  the  thoughtful  observer  of  the  lady-bug 
who  sat  in  the  roses'  heart,  and  Sterling  felt  that  the 
perfumed  silken  retreat  was  the  covert  for  which 
Nature  and  habit  designed  him.  He  had  no  mis- 
givings touching  his  future  happiness,  almost  as  few 
conscience-pricks  when  he  thought  of  Bertha  and 
the  "  pretty  folly  "  of  which  he  was  now  ashamed. 
She  was  a  sensible  girl,  he  reasoned,  and,  reverting 


1 34  Wall-Floiuers. 

to  the  figure  of  the  rose-covert,  a  very  ant  in  homely 
industry  and  energy.  Their  paths  had  been  separated 
by  Providence.  He  had  been  lifted  up,  she  put  down. 
He  was  in  no  wise  responsible  for  the  revolution  or 
the  consequent  changes  of  feeling  he  had  undergone. 
For  aught  her  conduct  said  to  the  contrary,  she  recog- 
nized this  truth  with  as  little  emotion  as  himself.  She 
must  regret  giving  him  up;  any  woman  would.  Still, 
she  could  not  have  expected  anything  else.  None  of 
the  Temples  had  alluded,  even  remotely,  to  the  early 
affair.  One  and  all  treated  him  with  simple  cordiality 
as  the  playfellow  and  comrade  of  the  dead  sons,  and 
extended  true  Virginia  hospitality  to  his  uncle.  Their 
visit  was  doubtless  an  agreeable  variety  in  the  hum- 
drum tenor  of  their  everyday  life,  and  carriage-rides 
were  rare  with  them  now.  He  had  no  earthly  objec- 
tion to  seconding  his  uncle's  benevolent  scheme  of 
shedding  all  the  light  he  could  into  the  darkened  home. 
They  must  see  for  themselves  the  manifest  inexpedi- 
ency of  any  closer  bond  of  union  between  him  and  one 
of  their  fallen  house. 

The  present,  with  its  actualities — bleak  and  harsh — 
was  very  far  from  Bertha's  mind  as  she  dreamed  for 
the  last  time  over  the  faded  papers — taking  them  in 
the  order  of  their  dates,  beginning  with  the  semi-gal- 
lant, semi-loving  epistle  marked  "  University;  "  perus- 
ing twice  the  first  real  love-letter,  written  after  the 
vacation  during  which  they  were  so  much  together  in 
the  country.  That  fairy  summer,  dyed  in  rainbow- 
hues  by  the  prism  of  memory,  all  sunshine,  and  fra- 
grance, and  song!  The  sweet  hush  of  one  sunset  de- 
scended about  her  now — a  circle  of  blessed  calm — 


Wall-Flowers.  135 

shutting  out  all  recollections  of  discord,  of  absence, 
and  of  change.  Again  she  stood  on  the  bank  of  the 
radiant  river,  plucking  leaf  after  leaf  from  the  bunch 
of  wild  roses  in  her  hand,  and  flinging  them  out  upon 
the  water,  hardly  knowing  that  she  did  it,  only  alive 
—and  what  a  life  it  was !— to  the  truth  that  she  was 
beloved,  and  hearing  that  this  was  so  from  his  lips. 

A  knock  at  the  door  made  her  start. 

"Bertha,  what  are  you  doing?"  called  Ellen.  "  It 
is  almost  ten.  The  carriage  will  soon  be  here." 

It  arrived  promptly  at  the  appointed  time,  Mr.  Dent 
being  a  model  of  punctuality;  but  Bertha  was  ready, 
looking  cool  and  pretty  in  a  white  cambric  with  black 
stripes,  and  a  black  straw  hat,  trimmed  with  white 
ribbon  and  black  lace.  The  cambric  was  a  bargain — 
only  twenty-five  cents  a  yard — and  she  had  made  it 
herself,  with  a  deep  Spanish  flounce  and  ruffled  sleeves. 
It  fitted  her  well,  and  she  wore  it  with  an  air  that 
gave  it  the  effect  of  a  six-dollar  silk,  at  the  least.  Her 
white  shawl  was  also  inexpensive,  and  she  was  her 
own. milliner.  Cabell  was  shrewd  and  observant  enough 
to  detect  some  of  these  things,  and  to  guess  the  rest. 
His  dainty  taste  shuddered  at  them  all.  Mr.  Dent, 
who  had  lived  in  the  world  thirteen  or  fourteen  years 
longer  than  he,  only  perceived  that  the  girl  was  charm- 
ing altogether,  and  that  her  spring-like  raiment  was 
crisp  and  fresh  beside  Mrs.  Venable's  mourning  weeds. 
The  excursion  could  not  be  a  very  merry  one,  since 
each  milestone  had  its  story  of  conflict  and  bloodshed, 
and  the  horrors  of  the  Chickahominy  Swamp  were  still 
vivid  in  the  visitors'  minds.  But  the  party  was  out- 
wardly cheerful,  Bertha  and  Sterling  doing  most  of 


136  Wall-Flowers. 

the  talking.  Her  cheeks  had  a  fever-flush,  her  eyes 
were  unnaturally  bright,  her  enunciation  more  rapid, 
her  gesticulation  more  animated  than  usual.  She  was 
lively,  witty,  slightly  caustic  at  times,  coming  down 
suddenly  and  severely  upon  certain  of  Sterling's  affecta- 
tions— behavior  that  made  him  stare  and  the  others 
laugh. 

Mrs.  Venable  took  observations,  and  pondered  them 
when  she  reached  home.  Bertha  was  a  mystery  to 
her  family  of  late.  She  never  seemed  cast  down,  yet 
that  her  relations  with  Sterling  were  utterly  changed 
was  evident  to  all.  She  went  singing  about  her  work 
as  of  yore,  and  entered  readily  into  whatever  interested 
the  others,  apparently  keeping  nothing  back  from 
them  ;  but  no  one,  from  her  mother  down,  dared  cate- 
chise her  as  to  her  engagement  and  its  dissolution.  It 
was  a  singular  complication — take  it  altogether — her 
reserve,  Sterling's  defection,  and  the  constant  inter- 
course of  the  gentlemen  with  the  various  members  of 
the  Temple  household.  Mr.  Dent's  unfeigned  enjoy- 
ment of  the  association  was  not  accounted  for  to  the 
feminine  portion  of  the  family  by  his  disposition  to 
purchase  Virginia  lands  and  Mr.  Temple's  abetment 
of  the  project.  His  frequent  visits  and  repeated  invi- 
tations to  rides,  walks,  and  places  of  public  amusement 
were  courtesies  offered  to  the  ladies.  His  evident  ap- 
preciation- of  their  society  was  susceptible  of  two  in- 
terpretations. He  was  a  man  of  gallantry,  who  could 
not  live  out  of  sight  of  the  other  sex ;  or  he  had  some 
cherished  object  in  view,  sought  their  favor  for  a  spe- 
cific purpose.  Was  it  for  his  nephew's  sake  ?  queried 
Mrs.  Venable.  Hardly,  or  he  would  have  vetoed  the 


Wall-Flowers.  137 

departure  of  which  he  had  spoken  that  day.  The 
widow  was  not  astute,  but  she  understood  intuitively 
that  Cabell's  continuance  of  his  tour,  for  pleasure 
merely,  settled  the  question  of  his  intentions  towards 
Bertha.  In  leaving  her  thus  he  said  emphatically  that 
he  would  seek  her  no  more.  The  need  for  his  going 
seemed  slight,  as  was  that  for  the  uncle's  remaining  in 
a  place  where  he  had  so  few  acquaintances  and  so  little 
to  do. 

A  thought  gleamed  upon  her,  bold  and  striking. 
She  had  groped  her  way  to  the  light, — she  was  sure  of 
it.  Flushed  by  her  discovery,  and  being,  moreover, 
prone  to  act  upon  impulse,  she  ran  down  stairs  to 
confide  it  to  some  one  else.  It  was  the  habit  of  the 
old  people  to  sit  at  twilight  in  the  library  together — 
Mr.  Temple  with  his  pipe,  his  wife's  hand  on  his 
shoulder — while  they  communed  of  days  gone  by  and 
reviewed  aloud  their  plans  for  those  to  come.  A 
pleasant,  lovely  custom,  so  well  understood  in  the 
family  that  the  children  seldom  intruded  upon  the 
tete-h-tcte  unless  some  matter  of  importance  called 
them  thither.  The  tone  of  the  conjugal  dialogue  was 
pensive  to  melancholy  to-night.  The  weight  of  many 
losses  and  sorrow  and  the  brooding  dread  of-  a  morrow 
for  which  no  store  was  laid  aside  pressed  wearily  upon 
the  pair. 

"  If  our  boys  had  lived  my  anxieties  for  their  sisters 
would  have  been  slight,"  the  father  was  saying,  when 
Mrs.  Venable  entered  from  the  hall. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  cried,  gayly,  "that  I  have 
found  out  something  to-day — or  think  I  have — that 
will  astonish  you,  if  you  have  been  as  blind  as  I  was 


138  Wall-Flowers. 

until  a  few  hours  ago  ?  What  would  you  say,  father, 
if  Mr.  Dent  were  to  ask  your  permission  to  offer  him- 
self and  his  fortune  to  our  Bertha  ?  " 

"  I  say,  now,  that  you  are  dreaming,  child.  You 
are  thinking  of  the  nephew." 

"  That  is  all  over.  And  very  shabbily  Sterling 
Cabell  has  behaved.  He  is  not  the  ninth  part  of  the 
man  his  uncle  is.  Call  me  a  false  prophetess  if  you 
are  not  waited  upon  by  the  stately  banker  before 
many  days  have  passed.  He  is  hopelessly  captivated, 
and  what  moles  we  have  been 'not  to  see  it  before! 
Bravo  for  little  Bertha!  He  is  a  conquest  to  be 
proud  of." 

"  But  his  age !  "  objected  the  mother. 

"And  Bertha  would  never  marry  a  Northerner!" 
interjected  Mr.  Temple. 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  I  had  rather  take  a  full- 
blooded  Yankee  than  a  renegade  Virginian,  who  ran 
away  to  avoid  fighting  and  holds  himself  above  those 
the  war  has  reduced,"  retorted  the  daughter  with 
spirit.  "  As  to  age,  he  is  forty-one,  and  he  will  be 
young  at  sixty.  This  is  all  cntre  nous,  however. 
Match-making  is  against  our  principles.  I  merely 
throw  out  the  hint  for  your  consideration,  that  you 
may  not  be  unduly  amazed  when  the  declaration 
arrives,"  and  she  laughingly  withdrew. 

"This  is  a  queer  story,"  commented  Mr.  Temple, 
thoughtfully.  "  Yet  if  the  child  could  bring  herself  to 
marry  this  worthy  gentleman — for  thorough  gentle- 
man he  is — I  could  die  more  peacefully,  and  you,  my 
love,  would  be  comfortable  for  life." 

"  I  would  not  bias  her  feelings  or  actions,"  said  the 


Wall-Flowers.  139 

mother  tenderly.  "  If  this  be  true,  and  not  a  fancy  of 
her  sister's,  Bertha  must  obey  the  dictates  of  her  own 
heart  and  judgment.  I  own  I  should  be  happier  to 
see  her  well  married,  if  only  for  the  assurance  it  would 
give  me  that  her  heart  is  not  broken  by  Sterling 
Cabell's  infidelity.  I  am  sadly  afraid  that  he  has 
treated  her  cruelly  and  heartlessly,  brave  and  uncom- 
plaining as  she  is." 

The  door  leading  into  the  parlors  was  open,  and  a 
dim  figure  glided  past  it  into  the  darkness.  Bertha, 
worn  out  with  fatigue  and  heart-struggles  and  lulled 
by  the  indistinct  murmur  of  her  parents'  voices,  had 
fallen  asleep  upon  the  lounge  in  the  back  parlor,  and 
lay  there  unperceived  until  aroused  by  her  sister's 
louder  and  livelier  tones.  Mastering  her  indignant 
impulse  to  show  herself  and  refute  the,  to  her,  ridicu- 
lous statement  made  by  her  senior,  she  was  quiet  until 
the  opinion  of  her  father  and  mother  had  been  given. 
Then  she  fled  to  the  sanctuary  of  her  little  chamber ; 
sat  down  on  the  spot  where  she  had,  that  day,  coffined 
the  relics  of  her  unhappy  love,  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  dark  though  it  was,  in  such  a  paroxysm  of 
horror,  shame,  and  dread,  as  must  effect  an  important 
revolution  in  a  girl's  life  and  character.  Mr.  Dent  was 
in  love  with  her,  and  her  friends,  parents,  and  sisters, 
would  have  her  jump  into  his  arms,  marry  him — Ster- 
ling's uncle — a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father ! 

"  Must  I  sell  myself — body  and  soul  ?  "  Thus  she 
put  the  case.  "  Abridge  the  term  of  mourning  for  my 
beautiful  dead  dream,  and  make  ready  for  a  loveless 
bridal  ?  I  would  die  first !  " 

She  was  very  angry — with  her  sister,  with  Mr.  Dent, 


140  Wall-Flowers. 

with  herself,  m  that  she  had  permitted  his  attentions ; 
with  the  whole  world — treacherous,  crooked,  and  un- 
feeling! But  when  her  wrathful  mortification  had 
spent  its  force  in  tears  and  ejaculations,  her  father's 
words  came  back  to  her  again  and  again.  "  I  could 
die  more  peaceably  ;  and  you,  my  love,  would  be  com- 
fortable for  life."  The  gray,  worn  father,  so  bowed 
with  years  and  care ;  the  meek  mother,  ever  thought- 
ful for  the  weal  of  those  she  loved.  Was  it  true  that 
she — their  child,  was  the  keeper  of  their  happiness? 
"Comfortable  for  the  rest  of  your  life!"  That  she 
might  enjoy  her  holiday  with  a  clear  conscience,  Ber- 
tha had  arisen,  that  Saturday  morning,  at  five  o'clock 
to  sweep  the  house  from  top  to  bottom,  and  clean  the 
silver  before  breakfast.  Mrs.  Temple  was  already  up, 
and  sewing  in  the  room  adjoining  her  chamber.  She 
could  not  sleep,  she  said,  and  it  was  tiresome  lying  in 
bed  awake  and  thinking.  Her  daughter  remembered 
it  now,  and  wondered  if  this  were  a  frequent  occur- 
rence ;  thought,  moreover,  of  the  slender  appetite,  un- 
tempted  by  fare  that  seemed  coarse  in  comparison 
with  former  daintiness  and  abundance  ;  of  the  pretty 
feet  and  hands  for  which  the  beautiful  matron  was 
noted  in  the  days  of  carriages  and  best  French  kids ; 
the  feet  now  chilled  by  carpetless  floors  and  damp 
pavements  ;  the  fingers  roughened  by  labor ;  the  dear, 
patient  eyes,  strained  early  and  late  over  needlework 
for  which  she  was  to  be  paid  like  any  vulgar,  illiterate 
sewing-girl. 

"  Comfortable  !  "  That  meant  leisure  and  ease  of 
mind,  along  with  physical  rest ;  relief  from  the  petty 
anxieties  that  swarmed  about  the  poor  lady  like  noisy 


Wall-Flowers.  141 

and  vicious  mosquitoes.  It  would  be  worth  something 
— the  sight  of  her  father,  walking  erect  among  trades- 
people, giving  orders  as  he  once  did,  instead  of  count- 
ing over  his  market  money  to  see  if  he  could  afford 
this  or  that — formerly  accounted  one  of  the  necessaries 
of  life.  Mr.  Dent  was  rich  and  liberal,  and  money 
could  accomplish  so  much  !  He  could  devise  ways 
and  means  by  which  these  objects  could  be  attained 
without  sacrifice  of  Mr.  Temple's  self-respect. 

"  If  he  only  had  something  to  do  by  which  he  could 
support  mother  and  one  of  the  girls,  I  would  have  the 
other  with  me" — She  stopped,  a  burning  heat  rushing 
to  her  temples.  Was  she  then  meditating  this  marriage 
as  a  possibility?  "  I  would  die  first !  "  she  reiterated, 
passionately. 

In  five  minutes  more  she  was  ringing  the  changes 
anew  upon  her  father's  declaration  and  her  mother's 
gentle  response.  To  please-  them  would  involve  no 
sacrifice  of  happiness,  she  argued.  Loss  implied  pre- 
vious possession,  whereas  she  was  already  a  miserable 
bankrupt.  If  she  ever  married  it  must  be  for  money 
or  a  home.  She  would  never  love  again — nevermore 
trust  in  man's  affection.  Mr.  Dent  was  a  man  of  stanch 
principle  and  kindly  impulses.  He  would  treat  a  wife 
with  generous  consideration — see  that  she  wanted  for 
nothing  wealth  could  buy. 

"  Is  this  tempter  duty  or  the  devil  ?  "  she  aroused  her- 
self to  ask.  "  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  think  longer. 
My  wits  are  deserting  me.  It  is  more  than  likely  that 
the  whole  theory  is  groundless.  I  will  believe  nothing 
— resolve  upon  nothing  until  the  need  for  decision  is 
forced  upon  me." 


142  Wall-Flowers. 

But  all  night  long  the  conflict — ever  beginning,  never 
settled,  went  on  within  her.  She  felt  like  an  old  woman 
by  the  time  the  Sabbath  chimes  floated  in  at  her  open 
window,  with  the  scent  of  the  flowers  from  the  balcony 
below. 

Life  was  all  out  of  joint  that  morning.  Mr.  Temple 
was  confined  to  his  room  with  a  headache,  and  needed 
his  wife's  attendance.  The  only  servant  of  the  estab- 
lishment was  summoned,  while  building  the  kitchen 
fire,  to  see  a  sick  brother,  and  left  the  wood  unkindled, 
the  dead  ashes  on  the  hearth.  Ellen  and  Bertha  made 
ready  the  simple  meal,  washed  the  breakfast  dishes ; 
cleaned  up  dining-room  and  kitchen,  Mrs.  Venable 
offering  to  prepare  dinner  while  her  sisters  went  to 
church. 

"  It  can't  be  said  that  we  are  devotional  for  the 
purpose  of  showing  our  finery,"  remarked  Ellen, 
jocosely,  as  they  donned  their  cheap  cambrics — the 
only  spring  dresses  they  had  been  able  to  buy. 

Bertha  looked  and  felt  indifferent  as  to  the  value  or 
becomingness  of  her  costume.  Sack-cloth,  with  a 
liberal  garnish  of  ashes,  would  have  suited  the  inner 
woman  better  than  her  smartly-made  print. 

"  It  is  your  turn  to  use  the  parasol,"  she  said,  as  they 
started  down  stairs.  The  three  had  but  one  between 
them.  Bertha  had  been  the  first  to  laugh  at  the  law 
of  rotation  in  office  which  governed  the  useful  imple- 
ment, but  she  could  not  jest  about  it,  or  any  other 
"  beggarly  device  "  to-day.  Each  was  a  rivet  in  the 
shackles  she  fancied  were  forming  upon  her  free 
agency.  Her  head  ached  and  her  eyes  smarted.  The 
sun  was  hot,  the  streets  dusty,  and  it  was  so  near  noon 


Wall-Flowers.  143 

that  there  was  next  to  no  shade  even  upon  the  em- 
bowered sidewalks  for  which  Richmond  is  famous. 
To  crown  her  discontent,  it  was  Easter  Sunday,  and 
every  woman  in  town  who  could  bedeck  herself  in  a 
new  hat  and  brave  apparel,  did  so.  They  met  nobody 
who  looked  as  plain  as  themselves ;  and  St.  Paul's,  in- 
which  Mr.  Temple  still  continued  to  hold  a  pew,  was 
thronged  with  finely -feathered  birds.  Light  silks, 
summer  poplins,  aud  other  fashionable  fabrics  brushed 
their  cotton  dresses  in  the  vestibule  and  aisles,  and 
the  heads  of  the  congregation  resembled  a  mammoth 
parterre  of  newly-blown  flowers  tossing  and  quivering 
in  a  light  breeze. 

Bertha  heard  neither  Easter  anthem,  service,  or 
sermon ;  hardly  cast  a  glance  at  the  floral  decorations 
of  the  sanctuary.  Heaven  was  very  far  away — the 
Father  of  mercies  deaf  or  insensible  to  her  cry.  She 
had  suffered  until  her  sensibilities  were  benumbed — so 
she  believed.  She  would  not  plead  for  a  smoother 
path  than  that  where  pebbles  bruised  and  flints  lace- 
rated her  unsteady  feet.  A  plain  one — straight  and 
well-defined,  so  there  could  be  no  mistake  as  to  the 
route  designed  for  her  to  tread,  was  all  she  asked  of 
Providence.  She  was  tired  trying  to  find  a  way  for 
herself.  This  was  the  prayer  that  arose  in  her  heart 
when  priest  and  people  bo^ed  together  in  the  final 
act  of  worship. 

"  Give  me  a  token  that  shall  end  this  weary  warfare ! 
Show  me  what  I  ought  to  do — a  sign  I  may  not  mis- 
take. Thou  seest,  Lord — Thou  alone,  how  heavy  and 
sharp  is  my  cross.  I  would  do  right.  Help  me  !  Point 
out  the  way,  and  I  will  walk  in  it." 


144  Wall-Flowers. 

Arising  from  her  knees,  pale,  and  faint  of  heart,  she 
met  Mr.  Dent's  eyes.  He  had  sat  in  the  pew  directly 
behind  her,  and  stood  in  the  aisle  quietly  awaiting  her 
pleasure,  his  head  slightly  bent,  his  features  reverent. 

"  A  thorough  gentleman  !  "  The  thought  leaped 
into  her  mind,  almost  escaped  her  tongue  as  she 
bowed  silently  in  acknowledgment  of  his  respectful 
salutation.  Ellen  had  slipped  away  and  was  chatting 
with  a  lady,  half  way  to  the  door.  Bertha  walked, 
still  without  speaking,  by  Mr.  Dent's  side  down  the 
long  church,  her  heart  beating  fast  and  loudly.  Was 
this  the  sign  for  which  she  had  prayed  ?  Was  it  in 
faith  or  superstition  that  she  was  inclined  to  accept  it? 
The  air  without  was  like  a  furnace  after  the  cool  shad- 
ows within  doors,  and  struck  upon  them  like  blinding 
steam  as  they  cleared  the  vestibule.  Mr.  Dent  cast 
a  furtive  look  at  his  companion's  empty  hands,  and 
raised  a  small  sun-umbrella  he  had  brought.  The 
shield  was  pleasant,  as  was  the  reflection  that,  well- 
dressed  and  distingut!  as  he  was,  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
single  her  out  as  the  object  of  his  regard  in  all  that 
gay  assemblage.  It  was  a  little  thing  to  be  grateful 
for,  but  she  was  so  cast  down  in  spirit  that  the  touch 
of  balm  soothed  her  hurt  in  some  degree.  The  torn 
tendrils  could  not  learn  to  climb  again,  but  it  was  a 
welcome  boon — the  shade  in  which  they  might  lie 
while  they  bled  away  their  life.  There  was  a  sense  of 
protection  and  comfort  in  his  society,  in  the  notice 
he  paid  her  whom  the  lover  of  her  youth  had  dis- 
carded. 

"  Sterling  complained  that  the  unseasonable  heat 
rendered  him  undevout,"  Mr.  Dent  said,  as  they 


Wall-Flowers.  145 

strolled  up  the  street.  "  I  suspect  the  irreverent  ex- 
cuse was  the  cover  for  a  morning  of  letter-writing,  al- 
though he  will  reach  Charleston  almost  as  soon  as  his 
epistle.  Has  he  told  you  of  his  engagement  ?  " 

The  pavement  was  scorching,  and  seemed  to  radiate 
living  sparks  into  Bertha's  eyes. 

"  No !  "  Her  voice  sounded  oddly  to  herself  through 
the  rush  and  roar  that  oppressed  her  ears,  but  Mr. 
Dent  observed  nothing  uncommon  in  the  intonation. 

"  Ah !  I  supposed  he  had,  since  you  are  such  old 
and  intimate  acquaintances.  But  he  had  not  the  lady's 
permission  to  announce  the  betrothal  until  yesterday 
morning.  She  is  Miss  Imogen  Torrey,  the  sister  of 
a  particular  friend  of  mine — a  charming  woman,  and 
very  popular  with  her  associates  ;  fine-looking,  rather 
than  regularly  handsome ;  intelligent  and  refined,  and 
in  manner  peculiarly  fascinating.  I  wish  you  knew 
her,  and  hope  you  may  meet,  some  day.  You  would 
harmonize  delightfully,  I  think.  The  boy  could  not 
have  made  a  more  judicious  selection.  He  is  of  the 
same  opinion,  judging  from  the  complacency  with 
which  he  regards  his  prospects.  Miss  Torrey  is  trav- 
elling with  her  brother's  family,  at  present.  It  is  to 
join  them  that  Sterling  goes  to  Charleston  before  I  am 
ready  to  accompany  him." 

Bertha's  answer  was  not  very  prompt.  Her  head 
was  bowed,  and  her  hat-brim  hid  her  face.  She  laughed 
in  looking  up. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  queer  it  seems  to  us — your 

Northern  fashion  of  publishing  engagements.     Here, 

they  are  only  guessed  at  and  whispered  about  outside  of 

the  lady's  family.  The  gentleman's  nearest  relatives  are 

7 


146  Wall-Flowers. 

often  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  true  state  of  affairs  until 
the  wedding-day  is  set.  The  custom  has  its  manifest 
advantages.  Perhaps  not  the  least  is  the  facility  it 
affords  for  the  exercise  of  masculine  fickleness  and  fem- 
inine coquetry.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  nephew's 
chances  for  happiness  are  so  fair.  I  suppose  it  will 
be  selon  les  regies  for  us  to  offer  our  congratula- 
tions?" 

"  He  will  be  gratified,  I  am  sure,  to  know  that  his 
old  friends  are  interested  in  his  welfare,  and  that  he 
carries  their  good  wishes  with  him  into  his  new  life," 
replied  Mr.  Dent,  somewhat  gravely. 

He  could  not  be  displeased  with  her,  but  he  was 
disappointed  that  she  treated  his  communication  with 
such  levity.  Betrothal  and  wedlock  were  to  him 
such  holy  and  solemn  things  that  the  tone  in  which 
they  were  usually  named  offended  his  taste.  He  had 
thought  her  feelings  too  fine,  her  sense  of  fitness  too 
just,  to  allow  her  to  fall  into  this  reprehensible  fash- 
ion. 

"  He  knows  nothing !  "  Bertha  was  thinking,  with  a 
swelling  heart.  "  And  this,  although  they  were  trav- 
elling together  when  those  two  foreign  letters  were 
written  to  me  !  Was  the  whole  thing  a  farce  from 
the  beginning — the  diversion  of  a  heartless  man,  in- 
stead of,  as  I  excused  his  faithlessness  by  imagining, 
the  evanescent  passion  of  a  boy  who  did  not  know 
himself  or  the  world  ?  Was  he  trifling  with  me  all 
the  while  ?"  • 

Both  gentlemen  called  on  the  Temples  that  even- 
ing. Mrs.  Temple  and  her  three  daughters  were  in 
the  room,  and  the  conversation  was  lively  and  gen- 


Wall-Flowers.  147 

eral,  until,  at  Mr.  Dent's  request,  Mrs.  Venable  went 
to  the  piano.  Ellen's  voice  was  a  contralto,  and,  like 
her  sister,  she  was  extremely  fond  of  sacred  music. 
Mr.  Dent  was  an  admirable  basso.  Singing  was  his 
one  accomplishment,  but  he  rarely  exhibited  it,  ex- 
cept in  glees  and  choruses.  Sterling's  knowledge  of 
music  was  superficial,  as  was  his  acquaintance  with 
most  of  the  arts  and  sciences.  But  he  had  a  tolerable 
ear  and  could  supply  a  showy  tenor  to  any  air  with 
which  he  was  familiar.  He  took  a  prominent  part  in 
the  proceedings  at  the  instrument  ;  selecting  music, 
expressing  his  views  of  this  and  that  piece  and  com- 
poser, and  carrying  on  his  vocalization  in  the  favorite 
style  of  operatic  tenores — his  chin  well  up,  and  eyes 
elevated  at  the  same  angle.  Mr.  Dent  stood  by, 
quiet  and  self-possessed,  seldom  speaking  unless  ap- 
pealed to  by  the  ladies,  and  singing,  when  his  turn 
came,  with  precision  of  time  and  purity  of  tone  that 
elicited  the  respect  with  the  applause  of  his  au- 
dience. 

Bertha  was  "  not  in  a  singing-humor  to-night,"  and, 
when  her  mother  stole  away  to  her  husband's  sick- 
room, the  girl  found  the  contrast  forced  upon  her 
contemplation  strangely  painful  and  mortifying.  She 
was  resigned  to  the  burial  of  her  idol.  She  shrank 
from  seeing  it  crumble  into  despicable  dust.  Sterling 
turned  from  the  piano  by  and  by.  The  others  had 
begun  to  try  new  anthems  and  make  daring  dips  into 
oratorios,  and  these  irregularities  barred  the  door  of 
distinction  to  him.  He  supposed  that  the  listeners 
had  wearied,  with  himself,  of  the  skirmishing  into  un- 
tried regions,  for  their  chairs  were  vacant.  Catching 


148  Wall-Floivers. 

sight  of  Bertha's  light  dress  upon  the  balcony,  he 
joined  her  there.  The  street  lamp  at  the  corner 
showed  him  her  face  distinctly,  her  eyes  dark  and 
haughty  with  their  expression  of  surprised  inquiry, 
and  the  recollection  overtook  him  with  disagreeable 
force  that  they  had  not  been  together  without  the 
restraint  of  a  third  person  since  their  parting  three 
years  ago. 

"  It  is  warm  in-doors,"  remarked  Bertha,  seeing  him 
at  a  loss  what  to  say,  "  and  the  music  sounds  well 
here.  But  you  should  not  have  left  your  post.  A 
quartette  is  indispensable  in  sacred  music." 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you." 

He  touched  the  hand  that  lay  upon  the  iron  rail. 
It  was  instantly  removed,  not  petulantly,  but  with  a 
composed  assumption  that  the  contact  was  accidental 
that  made  his  task  yet  more  difficult. 

"  I  found  a  box  awaiting  me  at  my  room  last  night 
when  I  returned  from  our  ride,"  he  resumed.  "  I 
have  sought  this  interview  to  explain  why  I  have 
nothing  to  send  in  return.  Before  I  left  Virginia,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  third  year  of  the  war,  I  destroyed 
such  personal  effects  as  I  could  not  conveniently  take 
with  me.  Many  of  them  were  of  great  value  to  me, 
but  I  would  not  risk  their  falling  into  other  hands 
than  mine.  Your  letters  and  several  of  the  few  keep- 
sakes I  had  received  from  you  were  of  this  number. 
I  took  with  me  into  exile  your  photograph,  ring,  and 
a  watch-chain  made  of  your  hair.  The  picture  faded 
into  a  hideous  caricature  I  could  not  bear  to  look  at. 
The  ring  I  lost  while  bathing  in  the  Dead  Sea.  I 
wore  the  chain  until  it  was  frayed  out.  These  are 


Wall-Flowers.  149 

the  few  and  simple  reasons  why  I  stand  before  you 
now  empty-handed." 

He  tried  to  laugh,  but  the  effort  was  a  melancholy 
failure. 

The  corners  of  Bertha's  mouth  broke  into  a  smile 
that  was  very  like  genuine  amusement,  unmingled 
with  chagrin  or  wounded  feeling.  A  bystander  might 
have  thought  that  she  enjoyed  the  situation  and  her 
obvious  advantage. 

"  The  inventory  is  circumstantial  and  quite  satis- 
factory," she  said,  her  dimples  deepening  and  broad- 
ening. "But  apologies  are  superfluous.  I  know  that 
change  is  an  immutable  law  of  Nature  and  mankind. 
That  sounds  paradoxical,  but  it  is  true.  Even  val- 
uables will  get  lost  in  Dead  Seas  of  forgetfulness,  be 
worn  out  and  cast  aside  as  worthless,  and  prettier 
things  than  girls'  photographs  fade  into  homeliness. 
You  need  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  explain ;  I 
understood  it  all  before." 

She  moved  to  go  in,  but  he  detained  her. 

"  We  are  friends  still,  Bertha  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  As  the  world  rates  friendship — yes. 
And  the  world  is  wiser  than  are  boys  and  girls  who 
play  at  love-making  they  are  ashamed  to  recollect  in 
the  course  of  a  twelve-month  or  so.  We  wish  one 
another  all  the  felicity  compatible  with  human  imper- 
fection and  the  laws  of  which  we  spoke  just  now. 
Each  is  entirely  willing  that  the  other  shall  enjoy  life 
in  his  or  her  chosen  way.  And  that  reminds  me  of 
an  omission  for  which  you  must  pardon  me,  although 
it  was  not  until  this  morning  that  I  had  a  definite  as- 
surance that  you  were  engaged  to  be  married." 


150  Wall-Flowers. 

She  said  it  out  in  the  plainest  terms,  gazing  directly 
and  without  embarrassment  at  him.  It  was  his  look 
that  fell,  his  hand  that  played  nervously  with  the 
odorous  shrubs. 

"Accept  my  sincere  congratulations.  That  your 
uncle  thinks  well  of  the  object  of  your  choice  is  a 
guarantee  of  her  excellence.  He  considers  the  alli- 
ance suitable  in  every  respect,  and  I  have  confidence 
in  his  judgment  and  taste." 

The  clear,  even  voice,  fuller  and  yet  more  melodious 
than  of  old  ;  the  plaintive  music  within,  a  soprano 
solo  of  wondrous  pathos  ;  the  stars  in  the  soft  South- 
ern heavens,  and  the  remembered  perfume  of  the 
flowers — together  touched  a  chord  long  rusted  by  the 
damp  of  selfishness,  clogged  by  the  dust  of  worldly 
policy.  For  that  one  instant  the  love  of  his  boyhood 
was  more  real  than  the  "  suitable  "  attachment  of  his 
wiser  years.  He  threw  out  his  arm  in  an  uncon- 
trollable gesture  of  deprecation. 

"  Don't  leave  me  in  this  way,  Bertha.  Have  you 
forgotten,  utterly  abjured  the  past  which  we  enjoyed 
together  ?  We  were  happy  then,  were  we  not  ?  The 
light  of  other  days  was  sweet  and  dear.  The  remem- 
brance of  it  is  forever  sacred  to  me.  It  is  no  disloy- 
alty to  my  betrothed  to  wish,  as  I  do  sometimes, 
that  I  had  lived  in  it  always.  You  despise  me,  I 
know,  consider  me  unstable  and  mercenary,  but  if 
you  could  understand  the  influences  which  have  been 
brought  to  bear" — 

"  Explanations  are  disagreeable  and  inconvenient 
things,  even  where  there  is  need  for  them,"  interposed 
Bertha,  still  clearly  and  without  falter.  "  In  this 


Wall-Flowers.  151 

case,  as  I  have  said,  they  are  altogether  unnecessary. 
Facts  speak  for  themselves.  I  understand  your  posi- 
tion, and  have  no  accusations  to  bring.  Therefore 
you  are  not  called  upon  to  defend  yourself.  As  for 
the  past,  I  have  only  to  thank  you  for  making  it  so 
easy  for  me  to  forget  it." 


PART  III. 

MID-APRIL  again,  and  the  air  of  the  beautiful 
Southern  city  palpitated  with  moonlight  and  fra- 
grance. The  stately  horse-chestnuts,  popular  in  the 
patrician  purlieus  wherein  resided  the  Temples,  were 
forward  with  their  cones  of  white  bloom,  and  a 'lively 
imagination  might  descry  visible  clouds  of  perfume 
arising  from  the  pearly  censers.  The  sidewalks  were 
peopled  with  strollers — youths  emancipated  from  the 
active  duties  of  business,  tasting  the  delicious  mo- 
ments with  the  zestful  delight  man  can  never  know 
after  five-and-twenty ;  happy  girls  in  early  spring  at- 
tire, with  uncovered  heads,  leaning  on  the  arms  of 
their  attendant  swains ;  with  here  and  there  a  graver 
wedded  pair  reminiscent  of  their  own  days  of  wooing. 
The  Richmond  Eros  greatly  affects  al  fresco  declara- 
tions, and  makes  a  specialty  of  moonlight  rambles.  In 
no  other  place  of  the  same  size  on  this  continent— 
certainly  in  no  more  Northern  town— are  more  vows 
of  eternal  constancy  exchanged  under  the  opened 
heavens.  Every  one  of  the  embowered  streets  of  her 
seven  hills  is  a  lover's  walk,  and  the  time-honored  cus- 
tom of  putting  these  to  their  proper  use  is  one  in 
which  there  are  no  signs  of  degeneration. 

The  Temple  mansion  had  undergone  many  changes, 
manifest  even  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  during  the  two 
152 


Wall-Flowers.  153 

years  that  had  elapsed  since  Robert  Dent  halted  be- 
fore it  on  that  smiling  April  morning  to  hearken  to 
the  carol  within :  "  Tears  for  to-morrow,  but  kisses  to- 
day." The  songstress  had  been  his  wife  for  eighteen 
months,  but  he  had  not  gloried  in  her  upon  their 
bridal  day  as  he  did  this  evening.  She  was  receiving 
an  informal  party  of  friends  who  had  flocked  to  her 
father's  house  to  welcome  her  home  from  the  foreign 
tour  Mr.  Dent — weary  of  wandering,  and  longing  for 
home  and  quiet — had  yet  planned  in  consonance  with 
what  he  divined  were  her  tastes  and  desires. 

They  had  landed  in  America  barely  a  week  ago, 
and  had  not  unpacked  a  single  trunk  in  New  York. 
Bertha  was  anxious  to  see  her  parents  and  sisters,  and 
the  year-and-a-half-old  bridegroom  only  waited  to 
know  her  wishes  to  execute  them.  He  was  repaid, 
if  the  indulgence  of  this  one  had  caused  him  inconve- 
nience, by  the  sight  of  the  lively  pleasure  the  reunion 
brought  to  each  member  of  the  family.  And,  as  of 
yore,  the  light  and  life  of  the  house  was  Bertha.  One, 
at  least,  of  the  dreams  which  had  wrought  upon  her  to 
accept  Mr.  Dent's  suit  was  fulfilled.  Her  father,  as 
her  husband's  agent  in  the  supervision  of  the  invest- 
ments the  latter  had  made  in  Richmond,  was  in  receipt 
of  a  generous  salary.  The  repairs  of  the  homestead 
were  a  Christmas  present  to  the  family  the  year  of 
Bertha's  marriage.  Mrs.  Venable  no  longer  gave 
music  lessons,  and  Ellen  was  on  the  eve  of  marriage 
with  a  thriving  young  merchant  of  Baltimore.  Mrs. 
Temple's  hands  were  again  fair  and  smooth,  and  upon 
her  dear  old  cheek  bloomed  the  late  blush  roses 
which  are  the  more  lovely  because  so  rare.  She  was 
7* 


154  Wall-Flowers. 

a  happy  queen-mother  to-night,  sitting  in  an  antique 
arm-chair,  erect  and  alert,  catching  the  meaning  of 
every  bon  mot,  appreciative  of  every  graceful  move- 
ment of  her  youngest  daughter.  They  might  well — 
one  and  all — worship  her,  for  she  had  rescued  them 
from  abject  poverty  ;  proved  herself  in  prosperity  as 
open-handed  and  affectionate  as  when  she  had  given 
her  all  of  time  and  labor  to  lessen  family  expenses 
and  increase  the  slender  stock  in  the  common  purse. 
Her  abundance  was  a  very  cornucopia  to  her  kindred. 
It  was  a  luxury  to  be  rich  in  these  circumstances,  and 
her  manner  to  her  husband  conveyed  her  recognition 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  great  good. 
Dutiful,  sweet-tempered,  and  cheerful  she  was  al- 
ways ;  but  there  was  a  deeper — he  imagined,  a  tenderer 
meaning  now-a-days  in  eye  and  voice  when  he  drew 
near,  and  she  called  him  by  his  Christian  name  habit- 
ually in  the  freedom  and  familiarity  of  her  early  home. 
He  hardly  dared  hope  for  her  love  when  he  sought 
her  hand  ;  had  sued,  with  trembling  earnestness,  so 
foreign  to  boyish  presumption  as  to  be  in  itself  a 
charm,  for  the  opportunity  to  win  affection  by  affec- 
tion. She  had  not  said  that  she  loved  him  while  they 
were  betrothed,  only  that  she  liked  and  esteemed  him 
beyond  any  other  man  of  her  acquaintance,  and  that 
she  was  entangled  by  no  other  attachment.  He  was 
very  determined  in  his  quiet  way,  and  he  resolved  to 
stand  in  the  highest  niche  in  the  temple  he  deemed  so 
beautiful  and  holy — a  true  woman's  heart.  He  was 
patient,  too,  and  he  had  never  endangered  final  success 
by  importunity  or  exaction ;  never  forgotten  that  he 
was  her  senior  by  sixteen  years,  and  could  not  woo 


Wall-Flowers.  155 

with  the  impetuosity  that  is  not  unseemly  in  ardent 
youth.  If  he  could  gain  her  gratitude  by  benefits  to 
those  she  loved,  could  by  attentions  timely  and  assid- 
uous make  himself  necessary  to  her  happiness,  the 
rest  would  follow.  The  boon  he  craved  must  be  won 
step  by  step,  and  was  it  not  richly  worth  all  it  would 
cost? 

He  thought  this  over  clearly  and  methodically,  as 
it  was  his  wont  to  treat  subjects  of  importance,  while 
moving  about  among  his  wife's  guests,  adapting  him- 
self with  tactful  readiness  to  the  tone  and  character 
of  each — an  agreeable,  handsome  gentleman — decided 
the  ladies,  young  and  elderly.  It  was  less  surprising, 
now  that  they  knew  him  better,  that  Bertha  should 
have  brought  herself  to  the  point  of  marrying  him  and 
that  the  Temples  seemed  so  pleased  with  the  match. 
She  certainly  (this  same  "  certainly  "  drops  from  the 
tongues  of  the  fast  youths  of  Richmond  with  every 
other  sentence,  at  least) — she  certainly  looked  well  and 
happy,  and  what  woman  of  sense  would  not  be  sus- 
ceptible to  the  influence  of  such  toilets  as  that  she  had 
sported  yesterday  afternoon  (they  called  it  "evening  ") 
in  her  promenade  with  Mr.  Dent  on  Franklin  Street, 
and  that  she  wore  to-night  ?  Neither  was  startling. 
Bertha's  taste  was  always  correct  ;  but  her  dresses 
were  rich  in  material,  and  in  trimming  and  fashion 
heavenly  and  Parisian,  very  enchanting  and  very  inde- 
finable. She  was  not  a  bit  spoiled  by  her  good  for- 
tune. This  was  also  voted  with  silent  unanimity. 
Her  manners  were  as  fresh  and  frank  as  ever.  She 
talked  as  Bertha  Temple  used  to  chat  to  her  coterie 
of  school-fellows,  without  affectation  or  hauteur ; 


1 56  Wall-Flowers. 

asked  after  each  of  her  old  cronies,  and  entered 
heartily  into  everything  that  had  happened  during 
her  absence. 

"  Do  you  ever  sing  English  ballads  now  ?  "  inquired 
Doctor  Maxwell,  a  gentleman  with  white  cravat  and 
ruffled  shirt-front — Bertha's  god-father — and  a  fine 
specimen  of  the  gallant  sexagenarian,  the  school 
which  is  passing  but  too  rapidly  away.  "  Or  am  I  a 
barbarian  to  ask  the  question  of  one  who  is,  no  doubt, 
mistress  of  the  operatic  style  ?  Your  sisters  have  told 
me  how  much  attention  you  paid  to  music  abroad." 

"  But  not  to  the  exclusion  of  ballads  in  my  native 
tongue,"  replied  Bertha,  brightly.  "  Had  it  been 
possible  for  me  td1  forget  or  neglect  my  early  love,  Mr. 
Dent  would  not  have  suffered  it.  His  fondness  for 
simple  minstrelsy  rivals  yours,  doctor."  She  smiled 
up  at  her  husband,  who  was  within  hearing.  "  He 
used  to  make  me  sing  for  him  in  the  purple  Roman 
twilights  Mrs.  Hemans'  version  of: — 

'  Roma  !  Roma  !  Roma  ! 
Non  e'  piu  come  era  prima ! ' 

We  trolled  the  '  Flower  o'  Dumblane'  in  the  shadow 
of  Ben  Lomond,  and  '  Annie  Laurie'  in  sight  of  Sevas- 
topol, in  memory  of  the  brave  fellows  who  chanted 
it  every  night  in  the  trenches  before  that  stronghold. 
You  recollect  it,  don't  you  ?  And  how  delightfully 
Bayard  Taylor  has  told  the  story : — 

'  Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name, 
But  all  sang  Annie  Laurie  ? ' " 

"And  when  did  you  recall  my  favorite?     By  the 


Wall-Flowers.  157 

way,  I  have  not  heard  it  since  you  were  married.  The 
young  ladies  of  this  day  know  nothing  about  it  they 
tell  me,  with  a  curl  of  their  pretty  lips." 

"'Auld  Robin  Gray?'  Isn't  it  a  singular  coinci- 
dence that  you  were  the  last  person  for  whom  I  sang 
it?"  said  Bertha,  perfectly  unembarrassed. 

Perhaps  she  did  not  detect  a  glance,  furtive  but 
polite,  exchanged  by  several  persons  near.  Mr.  Dent 
was  too  intent  upon  her  motions  and  words  to  ob- 
serve it. 

The  doctor  looked  disappointed.  "  And  I  was  about 
to  beg  you  to  sing  it.  You  have  forgotten  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  never  forget  old  friends." 

She  arose,  put  her  hand  into  his  arm,  and  moved 
toward  the  piano,  most  of  the  little  company  follow- 
ing. She  was  "  Bertha  and  nobody  else  "  still.  Mr. 
Dent  smiled  in  recollecting  the  phrase  which  Ellen 
had  repeated  to  him  in  describing  the  scene  that  pre- 
ceded their  earliest  meeting.  Nobody  else  could 
equal  her  in  grace,  beauty,  sprightliness — in  all  that 
was  noble  and  comely. 

An  impulse  people  would  call  sentimental  overtook 
him.  He  would  listen  to  her  singing  aud  watch  her 
from  without,  from  the  balcony  filled  in  her  honor 
with  wall-flowers  and  other  of  her  pet  plants.  This 
was  rather  a  habit  of  his — to  retire  to  some  secluded 
nook,  whence  he  could  feast  his  eyes  without  risk  of 
curious  or  sarcastic  scrutiny.  He  knew  that  gray- 
haired  men  with  beautiful  young  wives  are  considered 
fair  game,  and  he  would  not  make  his  darling  ridicu- 
lous, or  himself  if  he  could  help  it.  Seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity, when  the  attention  of  all  was  drawn  to  the 


158  Wall-Flowers. 

pianist,  he  passed  through  one  of  the  long  windows, 
and  took  his  stand  in  the  far  corner  of  the  balcony,  now 
transformed  into  a  veranda  by  the  edition  of  a  Chinese 
roof  and  light  iron  pillars.  The  shadow  of  the  horse- 
chestnuts  lay  dense  across  the  floor,  the  flower-breath 
was  intoxicatingly  sweet,  and  Bertha  sang: 

"Never  till  now  had  it  been  given 
To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 
To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  heaven." 

The  quotation  was  in  his  mind,  when  a  couple  strayed 
from  the  group  at  the  piano  and  sauntered  to  the 
front  window.  They  were  Louise  Morton,  a  near 
neighbor  of  the  Temples,  and  Boiling  Cabell,  a  cousin 
on  the  father's  side,  of  Mr.  Dent's  nephew.  The  lady 
sank  with  an  exclamation  of  pleasure  into  the  loung- 
ing-chair  her  cavalier  rolled  to  the  threshold  for  her. 

"  How  deliciously  cool  and  fragrant  it  is  here ! " 
putting  out  her  hand  to  pluck  a  geranium-leaf.  "  And 
isn't  it  too  romantic  and  nice  to  sit  in  the  moonlight 
and  listen  to  Bertha's  music?" 

"  She  sings  as  delightfully  as  ever,"  remarked  the 
impolitic  gentleman.  "  And  how  handsome  she  has 
grown.  I  never  saw  a  more  queenly  yet  more  fasci- 
nating woman." 

"  Pity  a  few  more  of  us  couldn't  marry  rich  and 
elderly  Yankees  !  "  retorted  Louise.  "  She  has  turned 
all  the  gentlemen's  heads.  I  should  think  her  nominal 
lord  and  master  would  be  jealous." 

"  Jealousy  is  not  a  masculine  foible,"  was  the  mis- 
chievous rejoinder.  "  And,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  she 
is  very  much  attached  to  him — quite  devoted,  in  fact." 


Wall-Flowers.  1 59 

"  Perhaps !  "  a  shrug  and  pout.  "  Hardly  as  devoted 
as  she  was  to  your  Cousin  Sterling  in  the  ante  bellum 
days  however.  By  the  way,  what  broke  that  off? 
Ellen  told  me  they  were  certainly  engaged  all  during 
the  war." 

"  Hark!     She  will  answer  your  question  herself." 

Bertha  was  singing- — 

"  Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  sought  me  for  his  bride, 
But,  saving  a  crown,  he  had  naething  else  beside." 

Mr.  Dent  in  the  covert  he  dared  not  leave,  and  the 
critics  in  the  open  window  heard  the  verse  through. 

Then  Louise  laughed  low  and  scornfully.  "  You 
acknowledge  it,  then?  Yet  you  admire  her — hold 
her  up  as  a  model  to  other  penniless  maidens  ?  " 

"  Et  poiirquoi  non  ?  "  Sterling's  cousin  resembled 
him  strongly  and  not  pleasantly  as  he  said  it.  " '  The 
greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number,  isn't  a  bad 
motto.  Sterling  alluded  to  the  affair  when  he  was 
here,  year  before  last.  He  couldn't  afford  to  marry  a 
girl  without  money,  especially  where  there  was  a 
chance  that  he  would  have  to  support  her  parents  also. 
He  had  next  to  nothing  himself  and  very  expensive 
tastes.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  dreamed  that  his  uncle 
whose  heir  he  hoped  to  become  would  throw  himself 
into  the  breach — but  so  it  was.  He  was  rich  enough 
to  indulge  in  luxuries.  And  he  has  certainly  done 
the  handsome  thing  by  the  Temples." 

"  It  was  a  heartless  transaction  all  around  !  "  ejacu- 
lated L^ise,  fanning  herself  energetically. 

"  I  rrr%ht  echo  your  '  perhaps '  in  reply.  It  is  rea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  Mr.  Dent  knew  he  was  the 


160  Wall-Flowers. 

second  best  choice,  and  was  not  so  vain  as  to  fancy 
that  his  beauty  married  him  through  love  pur  et  simple. 
He  has  too  much  sense  for  that." 

The  song  was  over,  and  Mr.  Dent,  finding  his  situa- 
tion painfully  awkward,  was  vibrating  between  the 
alternative  of  scaling  the  railing  and  escaping  into 
the  yard,  and  presenting  himself  boldly  before  the 
gossips,  when  Louise  fluttered  off,  like  a  butterfly,  to 
examine  a  folio  of  photographs  upon  the  centre-table. 
Her  escort  went  in  pursuit,  and  the  imprisoned  eaves- 
dropper emerged  unseen  from  his  bower. 

Not  to  hide,  like  other  stricken  things,  alike  from 
the  view  of  friend  and  foe.  He  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  see  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  leaving 
the  room  while  "  Auld  Robin  Gray"  was  sung.  He' 
doubted  not  that  the  majority  of  the  guests  had  ap- 
plied the  ballad  after  Mr.  Cabell's  style,  and  he  had 
given  color  to  the  impression  by  seeming  to  shirk  ob- 
servation. Unconsciously,  Bertha  abetted  his  resolu- 
tion to  deport  himself  with  gay  unconcern. 

"  I  was  just  wishing  for  you,"  she  said,  looking  over 
her  shoulder,  and  espying  him  as  she  finished  the 
doctor's  second  song.  "  Doctor,  help  persuade  him  to 
give  us — '  There  is  a  song  of  the  olden  time.' " 

"  You  need  no  other  help  than  my  cordial  desire  to 
please  your  friend,"  was  the  reply. 

Did  some  alloy  of  ambition  to  prove  that  he  had 
recommendations  to  an  attractive  girl's  favor  besides 
wealth  and  social  position  mingle  with  his  readiness 
to  oblige  her?  He  was  usually  averse  to^hatever 
savored  of  display.  Modest  in  his  estimaW  of  his 
abilities  and  with  a  hearty  appreciation  of  real  excel- 


Wall-Flowers.  161 

lence  in  musical,  literary,  or  social  talent,  he,  at  all 
times,  preferred  that  others  should  exhibit  while  he 
admired.  To-night  he  took  the  initiative ;  sang  sev- 
eral times  with  his  wife,  then  a  solo  to  her  accompani- 
ment, and  finally,  at  her  request,  sat  down  to  the  in- 
strument and  treated  the  company  to  a  German  ballad 
— a  masterpiece  of  pathos  and  passion,  given  in  a  style 
that  elicited  rapturous  applause. 

"  I  wonder  at  you  no  longer,"  said  a  vivacious  belle 
aside  to  Bertha,  real  tear-drops  beading  her  eye-lashes. 
"  If  he  wooed  you  in  such  music  as  that,  you  could  not 
have  resisted  had  you  wished  to  do  so." 

As  the  musician's  ringers  lingered  upon  the  final 
chord,  he  looked  up,  not  expecting  to  see  his  wife- 
and  met  her  gaze  bent  earnestly  upon  him.  She 
leaned  upon  the  end  of  the  piano,  her  lips  apart  with 
delighted  interest,  her  eyes  beaming  and  dewy.  But 
for  the  revelation  of  the  last  hour,  he  would  have 
drawn  dearest  encouragements  from  the  regards  that 
sank  bashfully  under  his,  from  the  vivid  blush  with 
which  she  turned  away.  As  it  was,  he  strangled  new- 
born hope  with  one  fierce  wrench,  arose,  outwardly 
placid  and  smiling,  to  receive  the  compliments  which 
were  showered  upon  him. 

"  I  was  so  proud  of  you  to-night,"  said  Bertha,  when 
they  were  in  their  room  together,  after  the  guests'  de- 
parture. 

Her  husband  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out  into 
the  night,  and,  as  she  joined  him,  the  scent  of  the  wall- 
flowers rame  up  in  slow  waves,  like  the  creeping  tide 
of  memory  in  a  still  hour. 

"  So  proud  and  happy,"  she  repeated,  linking  her 


1 62  Wall-Flowers. 

arm  in  his.  "  How  can  I  thank  you  for  the  pains  you 
have  taken  to  entertain  my  friends?  I 'suppose  it  is 
weak  and  foolish  in  me  when  I  know  so  well  for  my- 
self what  you  are,  but  I  was  anxious  to  have  others 
learn  something  of  this  also.  I  could  hardly  command 
myself  into  a  decorous  show  of  modest  gratification  as 
I  listened  to  the  handsome  things  that  were  said  about 
you — of  your  singing,  conversation,  deportment,  etc." 
— laughing.  "  Even  Louise  Morton  called  you  a  Bay- 
ard. Entre  nous,  she  hasn't  an  idea  whether  Bayard 
was  a.  Frank  or  a  Greek,  but  she  meant  to  be  very 
complimentary." 

"  I  am  glad  you  were  gratified."  He  did  not  intend 
to  be  reserved,  still  less  to  repel  her,  but  his  heart  was 
aching  sore  with  its  green  wound,  and  at  her  clinging 
touch,  her  kindly,  almost  loving  words,  a  mocking 
strain  seemed  to  float  through  the  summer  air : — 

"  But  I  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  to  be, 
For  Auld  Robin  Gray  is  a  kind  man  to  me." 

Bertha  glanced  up  quickly.  "  You  are  very  tired, 
are  you  not  ?  I  am  too  apt  to  forget  that  this  sort  of 
thing — the  constant  excitement  of  calls  and  evening 
gatherings  cannot  be  so  pleasing  to  you  as  to  me — 
that  my  acquaintances  are,  most  of  them,  strangers  to 
you.  We  shall  be  more  quiet  after  this  week,  I  hope." 

"  Not  on  my  account.  The  weight  of  years  does  not 
incapacitate  me  from  the  enjoyment  of  agreeable 
society.  Nor  am  I  at  all  weary.  On  the  contrary,  I 
was  just  thinking  that  I  would  take  a  walk  toward  the 
river  with  my  cigar — the  night  is  so  tempting.  Don't 
sit  up  for  me." 


Wall-Flowers.  163 

He  avoided  the  wondering  reproach  of  her  eyes; 
waited  for  no  more  apologies  or  expostulations.  His 
mood  was  unjust,  and  being  a  middle-aged  instead  of 
a  young  man,  he  had  the  candor  to  acknowledge  this 
to  himself,  and  break  off  abruptly  an  interview  that 
threatened  to  become  agitating.  That  he  had  failed 
to  teach  her  to  love  him,  was,  in  the  opinion  of  this 
staid  and  upright  gentleman,  no  sufficient  reason  why 
he  should  tempt  her  to  dislike  him. 

This  was  the  first  shadow  of  the  cloud  that  gradu- 
ally crept  between  two  who,  up  to  that  date,  had  been 
sincere  friends,  if  they  were  not  lovers.  On  one  side 
it  was  the  darkness  of  pride  and  indignant  amaze- 
ment ;  on  the  other,  of  wounded  affection  and  disap- 
pointment none  the  less  scathing  that  it  had  fallen 
later  in  life  than  such  sorrows  generally  befall  men. 
The  world  saw  in  them  an  amiable  and  well-bred 
couple  who  had  had  weighty  reasons  for  seeking  to  be 
joined  together  in  the  holy  ordinance  of  matrimony 
and  jogged  along  in  harness  more  comfortably  than 
did  half  of  those  who  had  contracted  marriages  of 
affection  without  regard  to  other  desirable  accompani- 
ments. The  Temples  were  complacent  in  their  con- 
viction that  Bertha  had  done  well  for  herself  as  for 
them. 

"  There  was  a  trifling  disparity  in  their  ages,  but  it 
was  on  the  right  side  and  there  was  a  perfect  under- 
standing between  them." 

Sterling  Cabell,  whose  cleverly-suppressed  resent- 
ment at  his  uncle's  "  folly  at  his  time  of  life,"  and 
Bertha's  fickleness  had  cooled  down  somewhat  with 
time  and  reflection,  yet  said  wicked  things  to  himself 


164  Wall-Flowers. 

in  his  cynical  way  of  the  perfidy  and  mercenary  pro- 
clivities common  to  all  women  when  he  attended  one 
of  Mrs.  Dent's  parties,  or  met  her  in  the  park,  in  vel- 
vets and  sables,  or  silks  and  laces,  as  the  season  de- 
manded. Sometimes  her  gray-haired  husband  was  at 
her  side — people  began  to  whisper  how  fast  the  snow 
was  falling  on  his  temples — sometimes,  a  trio  of  laugh- 
ing girls,  or  a  couple  of  dignified  matrons  were  with 
her  in  the  luxurious  chariot  Mrs.  Cabell  was  never 
tired  of  admiring  and  coveting. 

"  She  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  it  and  her  lot  gen- 
erally," Sterling  was  surprised  into  saying  to  his  mal- 
content Imogen.  "  She  crucified  her  heart,  sold  her- 
self, body  and  soul,  perjured  herself  at  the  altar  to 
secure  the  position  she  graces." 

"  Which  means  that  she  might  have  had  the  nephew 
instead  of  the  uncle,"  returned  the  wife,  coolly.  "  I 
don't  blame  her  for  what  she  did.  It  was  an  excellent 
match  for  her.  A  woman  should  make  the  best  bar- 
gain she  can  in  these  matters.  There  is  force,  not 
folly  in  the  saying  about  an  old  man's  darling.  Few 
wives,  even  though  they  may  have  brought  their  hus- 
bands wealth,  have  their  every  whim  indulged  as  she 
has  who  came  to  hers  penniless.  I  should  like  to  learn 
how  she  contrives  to  have  her  way  so  thoroughly." 

"  Not  by  lecturing  her  legal  lord,  I  imagine,"  re- 
joined Sterling,  putting  up  his  hand  to  conceal  a  yawn. 
"  You  recollect  the  fable  of  the  sun  and  wind  ?  " 

"  Unless  her  physiognomy  belies  her,  she  has  spirit 
as  well  as  sense,"  said  Imogen,  contemptuously  regard- 
less of  the  insinuation.  "  Mr.  Dent  is  not  the  man  he 
was,  prior  to  his  marriage.  If  the  truth  were  known, 


Wall-Flowers.  165 

I  have  no  doubt  we  should  find  that  she  carries  it  with 
a  high  hand  when  he  dare  oppose  her  sovereign  will." 
She  was  mistaken.  From  the  memorable  evening 
of  the  discovery  that  blasted  his  hopes,  there  was  never 
the  exchange  of  a  jarring  word  between  Mr.  Dent  and 
her  who  was  called  his  wife.  Better  the  jostling  of 
impetuous  waves  that  chafe  and  battle  for  an  instant, 
but  to  sink  into  a  closer  embrace,to  blend  more  quickly 
into  one,  than  the  wintry  calm  that  locks  them  into 
even,  glittering  ice.  By  mutual  and  tacit  agreement, 
the  Dents  discussed  no  subject  concerning  which  they 
were  likely  to  disagree  ;  studied  each  the  other's  pref- 
erences in  their  domestic  arrangements ;  were  agree- 
able and  courteous  to  one  another  in  private  as  in 
public  ;  very  conscientious,  very  attentive,  and  alto- 
gether miserable.  A  woman  whose  moral  principle 
was  less  stanch  would  have  revenged  herself  for  her 
consort's  polite  reserve  by  vigorous  flirtation  ;  one  who 
had  suffered  less,  and  learned  fewer  lessons  of  self- 
control  in  a  sharp  school  would  have  revolted  open- 
ly at  the  unnatural  life  to  which  she  was  held  by  the 
iron  hand  under  the  velvet  glove  of  seeming  regard 
for  her  wishes  and  welfare.  A  weaker  wife  would 
have  complained  of  her  joyless  fate  in  the  ears  of  those 
who  loved  her  and  showed  their  love.  The  young 
Virginian  carried  a  high— not  a  haughty  head- 
through  pain,  and  amaze,  and  repression  was  loyal  in 
word  as  in  deed  to  her  grave-visaged  spouse.  In  the 
handsome  house  of  which  she  was  mistress,  she  was 
hospitable,  not  gay,  and  when  she  went  abroad  her 
husband  was  her  cavalier.  Scandal-loving  tongues 
might  prate  of  the  extreme  probability  that  hers  was 


1 66  Wall-Flowers. 

a  marriage  of  convenience,  but  the  most  lawless  among 
them  never  meddled  with  her  serene  propriety,  never 
dared  whisper  that  it  was  the  screen  of  unlicensed 
desires  or  loves.  If  she  felt  her  life  to  be  a  failure, 
wearied  of  decent  routine  and  elegant  bondage,  she 
kept  heart-burnings  and  regrets  to  herself. 

For  nearly  two  years  after  Ellen's  marriage  Bertha 
did  not  revisit  her  native  city.  One  summer  her  fa- 
ther and  mother  passed  with  her  in  her  Rockaway 
cottage,  and,  having  seen  them  so  lately  she  declined 
to  go  to  Richmond  the  following  winter.  There  was 
always  some  plausible  excuse  for  postponing  the  jour- 
ney Mr.  Dent  repeatedly  proposed,  and  although  sur- 
prised at  her  persistency  of  refusal  he  was  far  from 
suspecting  the  truth,  viz.,  that  she  attributed  their  es- 
trangement to  a  slight,  real  or  imaginary,  put  upon 
him  by  some  member  of  the  company  assembled  at  her 
father's  the  evening  the  chill  first  fell  upon  her  spirit. 
He  had  heard  or  seen  something  that  displeased  him 
— what,  she  had  racked  her  brain  to  conceive.  Her 
levity  had  offended  his  taste,  or  some  chance  and  in- 
discreet allusion  to  his  age  and  her  gayety  sunk  deeply 
into  his  mind.  However  this  might  be,  the  thought 
of  going  to  Richmond  was  distasteful  to  her,  and  also, 
she  believed,  to  him. 

Early  in  April  of  the  second  year,  a  summons  ar- 
rived that  could  not  be  disregarded.  Mrs.  Temple 
was  very  ill,  and  a  telegraphic  dispatch  to  that  effect 
was  sent  to  her  absent  daughters.  Ellen's  arrival  at 
the  homestead  preceded  Bertha's  by  a  few  hours,  and 
for  a  fortnight  the  three  sisters  relieved  each  other  as 
nurses  of  the  mother  they  loved  so  fondly.  They  won 


Wall-Flowers.  167 

her  back  to  life — would  not  let  her  go,  she  said  to  Mr. 

Dent,  who  surprised  the  family — his  wife  included • 

by  appearing  among  them  one  day  at  the  close  of  the 
third  week  of  Bertha's  stay. 

"  I  trust  you  will  never  have  experience  of  her  pro- 
ficiency in  that  line,  but  your  wife  is  one  of  the  clever- 
est, tenderest  nurses  in  the  world,"  she  added,  putting 
her  wasted  little  hand  in  that  of  the  son-in-law  for 
whom  she  had  had  a  decided  fondness  from  the  be- 
ginning of  their  acquaintanceship.  "  It  was  more  than 
kind  in  you  to  lend  her  to  us  for  so  long.  Have  you 
come  to  take  her  away  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  I  am  here  on  a  flying  business  visit. 
I  must  return  the  day  after  to-morrow.  It  is  my  sin- 
cere wish  that  Bertha  should  remain  with  you  as  long 
as  you  require  her  services,  or  as  she  desires  to  stay. 
I  did  not  expect  her  to  accompany  me  to  New  York." 

"  I  wish  my  other  half  would  take  lessons  from  you 
in  self-denial — or  is  it  indifference  ?  "  said  Ellen,  saucily. 
"  I  half  believe  he  is  tired  of  you,  Bertha — that  he 
finds  himself  more  comfortable  without  than  with 
you/' 

"  She  knows  better  than  that."  The  remark  escaped 
him  involuntarily,  but  he  did  not  offer  to  recall  it. 

Bertha  smiled  faintly,  and,  as  her  husband  arose, 
saying  he  must  go  down  town,  she  busied  herself  with 
her  mother's  pillows,  answering  his  "  Good-morning  to 
you  all !  "  with  a  silent  bow. 

"  Don't  you  kiss  your  wife  when  you  leave  her  in 
the  morning?"  cried  the  thoughtless  sister,  feigning 
to  be  shocked.  "  Suppose  you  were  to  be  run  over  by 
a  runaway  horse,  or  shot  by  a  drunken  soldier  as  that 


1 68  Wall-Flowers. 

poor  wretch  was,  the  other  day,  or  come  to  some  other 
awfully  sudden  end,  how  would  you  feel  to  think  you 
have  parted  from  her  in  that  frosty-genteel  way  ?  I 
was  asked,  last  week,  if  you  were  not  a  very  fashion- 
ably-cool couple.  I  denied  it  then,  but  I  must  say 
this  looks  like  it.  I  should  break  my  heart  if  my  Will 
were  to  go  out  of  the  house  without  kissing  me." 

The  two  thus  bantered  blushed  like  convicted 
lovers. 

"  I  will  go  with  him  as  far  as  the  door,"  said  Bertha, 
hastily  trying  to  laugh  the  matter  off.  "You  must 
not  regard  Ellen's  nonsense,"  continued  she,  when 
they  were  in  the  hall.  "  She  does  not  understand." 

"  I  know !  "  he  answered,  briefly — it  seemed  to  her 
sadly.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  in  the 
city  ?  " 

"  Nothing — thank  you  ! " 

"  You  ride  or  walk  every  day,  do  you  not  ?  You 
are  looking  pale  and  rather  thin.  At  what  hour  shall 
I  order  a  carriage  for  you  ?  " 

"  We  usually  go  about  half-past  four." 

These  sentences  were  exchanged  in  the  lower  hall, 
while  his  hand  was  upon  the  front  door.  At  her  last 
reply  he  opened  it  and  stepped  out  upon  the  veranda. 

"  It  will  be  a  warm  day  !  "  he  observed,  glancing  up 
at  the  sky,  over  which  a  whitish  haze,  like  August 
exhalations,  was  gathering. 

"  The  season  is  very  forward,  even  for  this  latitude," 
was  the  answer,  uttered  mechanically. 

He  did  not  mean  to  kiss  her,  then.  They  were  to 
part  on  this  day  of  reunion,  after  long  separation,  as 
upon  all  other  days,  like  common  acquaintances.  She 


Wall-Flowers.  169 

was  no  nearer  to  him  at  meeting  for  having  dreamed 
of  him  by  night  and  missed  him  with  homesick  long- 
ing during  every  waking  hour.  She  would  never  be 
more  to  him  than  now — never! 

There  could  be  no  pleasure  in  prolonging  the  ex- 
change of  commonplaces,  yet  something  seemed  to 
make  him  loath  to  go.  It  was  very  unlike  his  usual 
promptitude  of  character  and  manner  to  loiter  as  he 
did  ;  his  hat  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  trifled  with 
his  cane.  He  appeared  to  be  casting  about  in  his 
mind  for  some  topic  of  conversation  that  would  give 
him  an  excuse  for  dallying  yet  longer,  or  to  be  revolv- 
ing a  subject  he  wished  to  introduce. 

"  Your  wall-flowers  are  looking  finely,  this  season," 
he  remarked,  surveying  the  smiling  ranks.  "They 
never  display  such  affluence  of  bloom  anywhere  else 
as  in  this  balcony." 

"  The  fine  weather  has  brought  them  on  well,  but 
they  are  hardy,  constant  bloomers  always."  Bertha 
said  it  with  an  odd  stricture  about  heart  and  throat, 
absolute  physical  pain  at  the  rush  of  emotions  the 
words  brought  over  her. 

If  Mr.  Dent  remarked  the  change  and  falter  in  her 
voice,  he  did  not  show  that  he  had  done  so. 

"  Will  you  give  me  one  ?  "  he  asked,  gently,  after  a 
pause. 

Without  a  word  she  broke  off  a  spray,  and,  with 
sudden,  inexplicable  boldness,  pinned  it  in  his  button- 
hole. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  he,  gratefully.  "  I  would  beg 
you  to  walk  with  me  before  the  heat  becomes  oppres- 
sive, but  I  promised  to  meet  Mr.  Burruss,  who  was 


I/O  Wall-Flowers. 

my  travelling  companion,  in  the  court-room  of  the 
capitol  at  half-past  ten.  Good-morning  !  " 

He  raised  his  hat  in  the  stately  old-time  courtesy 
she  thought  so  becoming,  and  walked  off  down  the 
street. 

Bertha,  leaning  on  the  railing  of  the  veranda, 
gazed  after  him,  her  eyes  filled  with  bitter-sweet 
tears. 

"If  he  knew ! "  she  said,  by  and  by,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  "  But  he  never  will.  He  would  not  care  if 
he  did.  He  has  not  missed  me  all  these  weeks.  He 
would  not  have  come  to  see  me  had  not  business 
brought  him.  Heaven  help  me  !  " 

The  passers-by  were  few  in  that  neighborhood  after 
the  morning  stream  of  business  men  had  flowed  past 
to  empty  itself  into  the  lower  town,  and  she  sat  down 
upon  a  low  cushion  in  the  French  window.  A  goodly 
picture,  thought  the  half-dozen  who  chanced  to  see 
her  there,  in  her  white  dress,  her  chin  resting  in  her 
palm,  her  eyes  purple  and  velvety  with  thought,  her 
bright  hair  curling  with  the  heat  and  moisture  of  the 
unseasonably  sultry  day.  She  had  sat  in  that  spot 
hundreds  of  times  before  in  the  long,  long  ago  that 
had  never  been  so  misty  as  now ;  sat  there  with  Ster- 
ling's letters  rustling  in  her  bosom,  and  his  miniature 
in  her  hand  ;  sat  there  empty  of  hand  and  heart  in 
the  few  days  of  mourning  she  allowed  herself  over  her 
"  beautiful,  dead  dream ;  "  but  she  had  never  held 
sadder  communings  with  herself  than  those  that  en- 
grossed her  after  the  echoes  of  the  manly  tread  she 
knew  so  well  had  died  away.  There  was  so  little  to 
live  for  in  her  world.  The  sameness  of  the  dreary 


Wall-Flowers.  171 

prospect  disheartened  her.  All  hope  that  her  husband 
would  ever  love  her  again  had  departed  from  her 
weary  soul.  Association  with  her,  the  knowledge  of 
her  many  faults,  had  changed  his  affection  into  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  I  am  but  one  of  many  items  in  his  daily  account 
of  events,  of  pleasures,  and  of  cares.  I  have  striven 
— how  earnestly  only  He  who  made  me  knows — to 
make  myself  necessary  to  his  happiness,  but  in  vain. 
Is  it  my  fate  never  to  retain  affection  ?  It  was  easy 
to  recover  from  the  mortification  occasioned  by  the 
fickleness  of  a  shallow,  ignoble  nature.  But  when  a 
man  like  this  withdraws  his  regard,  there  must  be  some 
grievous  fault  in  me."  , 

She  was  still  crouched  behind  the  flowery  screen, 
her  hands  loosely  clasped,  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  the 
unbent  lines  of  the  proud  mouth  indicative  of  listless 
wretchedness,  when  Mrs.  Venable,  who  had  gone  out 
immediately  after  breakfast,  ran  up  the  steps  with 
blanched  face  and  quivering  lips. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  upon  our  doomed  city ! " 
she  cried,  bursting  into  tears,  as  she  saw  her  sister. 
"  This  fills  up  the  cup  of  our  woes,  is  the  climax  of  our 
calamities  ! " 

"  What  is  it  ? "  said  Bertha,  startled  out  of  her 
apathy. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  the  alarm-bells,  and  seen  the 
people  rushing  by?  The  floor  of  the  court-room  at  the 
capitol  has  fallen  in,  and  a  large  number  of  men — some 
say  hundreds — were  killed  instantly.  They  were  dig- 
ging them  from  under  the  ruins  as  I  came  by.  You 
know  the  decision  in  the  mayoralty  case  was  to  be 


172  Wall-Flowers. 

given — Bertha,  don't  scream  !  We  must  keep  the 
news  from  mother  at  all  hazards.  Child,  where  are 
you  going  ?  " 

Bertha  tore  herself  loose  from  the  grasp  of  the  ter- 
rified woman — more  terrified  by  her  sister's  behavior 
and  the  wild  glare  of  her  eye  than  by  the  calamity 
she  had  described — sprang  past  her,  and  was  in  the 
street  before  the  other  could  ask  another  question  or 
summon  help  to  detain  her. 

The  sidewalks  were  thronged  when  she  gained  the 
lower  end  of  the  street,  where  it  ran  into  Capitol 
Square.  Swift,  breathless  pedestrians — men,  women, 
and  children,  many  elegant  ladies  bareheaded  like 
herself — poured  in  a  wild,  current  into  the  inclosure, 
filled  every  avenue,  were  driven  upon  the  turf  by  lines 
of  carriages  hurrying  hither  and  thither  at  the  bidding 
of  friends  and  physicians.  The  vehicles  leaving  the 
square  contained  bleeding  forms  supported  by  at- 
tendants ;  some  motionless  and  prone,  covered  with 
dust  and  gore  ;  not  a  few  embraced  by  weeping  wo- 
men whose  lamentations  rent  the  ears  of  the  spec- 
tators. But  the  main  tide  set  steadily  toward  the 
majestic  building,  for  eighty  years  the  city's  pride, 
nevermore  to  be  named  without  a  shudder  by  those 
who  visited  it  on  that  direful  day.  Through  the  mul- 
titude, when  she  could  open  the  close  ranks,  with  it, 
when  she  could  not,  the  wife  pressed  on  in  frenzied 
haste,  seeing  nothing  but  the  lofty  walls  ahead  of  her, 
hearing  nothing  save  the  ringing  of  Ellen's  lightly- 
spoken  words  in  her  tortured  brain  :  "  What  if  you 
were  to  come  to  some  awfully  sudden  end  !  " 

"  And   he   did   not   kiss   me !  "  repeated   the   half- 


Wall-Flowers.  173 

crazed  creature,  again  and  again,  whether  aloud  or 
inwardly  she  did  not  know. 

She  gained  the  goal,  the  centre  of  fearful  interest 
to  all,  the  railed  space  guarded  by  the  police,  a  semi- 
circle of  turf  directly  beneath  the  gaping  windows, 
through  which  were  visible  the  torn  walls  and  splin- 
tered beams.  A  dozen  shapes  were  stretched  upon 
the  sward,  gray  with  dust,  dripping  with  blood. 
Knots  of  men  were  sponging  the  hideous  disguise 
from  features  otherwise  unrecognizable  ;  straightening 
into  decent,  stark  composure  distorted  limbs  prior  to 
the  removal  of  the  lifeless  bodies  of  those  who  had 
been  killed  instantly  ;  and,  just  as  Bertha,  clutching 
the  railing  for  support,  leaned  over  it  to  search  with 
her  own  eyes  for  the  one  remembered  form  she  be- 
held in  imagination  wherever  she  gazed,  four  attend- 
ants rolled  up  in  a  strip  of  carpeting,  ripped  from  the 
fallen  flooring,  something  crushed  out  of  all  semblance 
of  humanity. 

"  Here  comes  another !  "  murmured  the  throng — 
the  horrified  sigh  that  heralded  the  appearance  of 
each  new  victim. 

A  stalwart  figure  was  borne  down  the  steps,  laid 
tenderly  upon  the  grass.  His  hair  was  matted  over  his 
forehead,  his  sweeping  beard  hoary  with  the  lime-pow- 
der that  had  proved  the  agent  of  death  to  many,  and  on 
his  breast  a  spot  of  brighter  color  attracted  instant 
and  pitying  notice — so  incongruous  was  it  with  the 
horrors  of  the  scene — a  bruised  cluster  of  yellow  flow- 
ers clinging  to  the  lappel  of  his  coat. 

"  My  husband  !     Oh  !  let  me  have  him  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult  about  her  the  wild  cry 


1/4  Wall-Flowers. 

was  heard  by  comparatively  few.  But,  when  she 
would  have  bowed  to  pass  under  the  low  rail  that  she 
might  the  sooner  reach  the  inanimate  form,  a  firm 
hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder.  She  tried  to  shake 
it  off,  without  withdrawing  her  eyes  from  the  sight 
that  had  maddened  her  ;  struggled  in  the  hold  of  the 
supposed  policeman  like  a  savage  thing  in  a  net. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  my  husband  !  I  love  him  better 
than  anything  else  in  the  world !  You  have  no  right 
to  keep  me  from  him  !  You  shall  not !  "  she  panted. 
"  For  the  love  of  mercy  let  me  go  !  " 

An  arm  was  wound  about  her  waist,  a  cheek  laid  to 
hers. 

"  Bertha,  darling  wife  !  " 

"  Drive  this  way!  "  called  a  policeman  to  the  driver 
of  a  passing  hack.  "  A  lady  has  fainted." 

She  was  lifted  into  the  carriage  by  the  sympathizing 
officer  and  a  tall  gentleman  with  a  full  brown  beard 
touched  with  silver,  and  a  spray  of  wall-flowers  in  his 
button-hole. 

"Poor  thing!  she  must  have  recognized  a  friend 
among  the  wounded,"  said  those  near  her,  and 
straightway  forgot  the  trifling  incident  in  the  new 
horror  of  the  next  instant. 

"  I  met  Burruss  on  the  capitol  steps,"  Robert  Dent 
explained  to  his  wife,  when  her  sisters,  having  seen 
her  recover  from  her  long  and  death-like  swoon,  and 
heard  Robert's  brief  statement  of  the  cause  of  her 
indisposition,  considerately  withdrew,  leaving  her  ly- 
ing, pale  and  happy,  in  her  husband's  arms.  "  He 
told  me  that  the  court-room  was  crowded  to  excess, 
so  that  he  doubted  the  possibility  of  our  finding 


Wall-Flowers.  175 

standing-places,  much  less  seats.  The  day  was  so. 
warm  that  after  a  minute's  deliberation  we  abandoned 
the  thought  of  going  in,  and  I  suggested,  instead,  that 
we  should  pass  the  time  that  must  intervene  before 
we  could  learn  the  decision,  in  visiting  other  portions 
of  the  building.  We  were  in  the  central  hall,  looking 
at  the  statue  of  Washington,  when  the  crash  came, 
and  immediately  lent  our  aid  in  removing  the  rubbish 
and  extricating  the  injured.  I  was  upon  the  steps, 
having  just  assisted  in  carrying  out  a  wounded  man, 
when  the  gleam  of  your  uncovered  hair,  and  the  flut- 
ter of  your  white  dress  on  the  outside  of  the  rail, 
caught  my  eye,  and  I  hastened  around  to  you." 

For  two  days,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  the  throbbing 
of  the  funeral  bells  was  the  audible  pulsation  of  the 
city's  mighty  heart  of  woe,  and  the  mourners  went 
about  the  streets.  What  was  yesterday  the  busy  mart 
of  trade  was  deserted,  and  from  every  closed  door 
floated  a  sable  pennon  below  the  placard  : — 

"  Closed  on  account  of  the  calamity  at  the  capital" 

Of  the  grief  of  desolated  homes,  the  secrets  of 
stricken  hearts,  the  bewilderment  and  distress  of  the 
oft-smitten  town — robbed  in  one  little  hour  of  nearly 
three-score  of  her  noblest  sons — it  is  not  the  province 
of  my  pen  to  write.  Turn  we  rather  to  the  holy  calm 
of  the  Sabbath  evening  succeeding  the  disaster,  when 
hand  in  hand,  husband  and  wife  in  truth  as  in  name, 
sat  upon  the  balcony  under  the  stars,  listening  to  the 
requiem  of  the  river,  breathing  the  incense  of  wall- 
flowers ;  and,  when  the  fulness  of  their  souls  allowed 


176  Wall-Flowers. 

them  to  speak,  talking  softly  of  past  mistakes,  of 
present  content,  of  the  future,  which  should  be  as  the 
present  and  even  more  abundant. 

"  Yet  I  could  wish,  for  your  sake,  that  I  were 
younger  in  years,  as  young  as  I  am  in  heart,"  said 
Robert,  regretfully. 

Bertha's  answer  was  to  kiss  the  luxuriant  locks 
massed  above  the  broad  forehead. 

"  Beautiful  hair !  "  she  added,  caressingly.  "  It  is  a 
crown  of  glory  in  my  sight  because  it  is  you  who 
wear  it." 


ABIGAIL'S    WAITING. 


A  FAMILY  CHRONICLE. 

"  I  WASN'T  surprised  when  I  heard  you  had  taken 
to  story-writing,"  said  Aunt  Anne,  unfolding  the  un- 
finished stocking  I  could  have  been  sure  was  twin  to 
that  I  had  left  her  at  work  upon  twenty  years  before. 
"It  runs  in  the  family,  you  know." 

"No?"  I  returned,  interested  on  the  instant.  "From 
whom  is  the  gift  inherited  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  mean 
where  the  faculty  started  in  the  beginning.  But  I  can 
trace  it  back  four  generations  at  least.  There  was 
your  own  grandmother  on  your  mother's  side,  for  in- 
stance. I've  heard  men  like  Doctor  Speece  and  John 
Randolph  say  she  was.  the  best  classical  scholar  of  her 
sex  and  day  they  ever  talked  with,  and  she  was  forever 
busy  with  her  pen.  It  wasn't  so  customary  for  people 
to  print  their  writings  in  those  times,  but  her  letters 
and  poems  were  beautiful !  And  she'd  tell  such  stories 
to  us  in  the  winter  evenings  as  would  make  us  cry  and 
laugh  together.  She  was  a  genius  and  a  delightful 
singer,  and  very  lovely  in  person  and  disposition. 
Then  there  was  my  first  cousin,  Thomas  Willard.  He 
was  an  editor,  and  would  have  been  famous  only  he 
1 77  8* 


178  Abigail's   Waiting. 

died  young.  My  Will — but  you  read  his  one  book 
and  the  magazine  articles  that  made  such  a  noise.  I 
have  everything  he  ever  printed  in  the  big  oak  chest 
up  stairs,  along  with  the  family  Bible  and  my  husband's 
wedding  coat.  The  last  article  was  a  camp  letter  that 
came  out  in  a  Richmond  paper.  We  had  just  read  it 
the  day  we  heard  from  Gettysburg." 

I  did  not  look  at  her,  but  I  heard  the  regular  click 
of  her  needles  as  I  turned  my  face  aside  and  gazed 
out  of  the  window,  over  the  line  of  winter-gray  hills 
to  the  northeastern  horizon — the  quarter  whence  the 
news  had  come  that  broke  the  father's  heart,  and 
caused  the  mother  to  take  up  the  touching  lament — 
"These  two  things  have  come  upon  me  in  one  day — 
loss  of  children  and  widowhood  !  "  I  knew  what  Will 
Moore  had  been  to  those  he  left  in  the  homestead, 
when  he  buttoned  the  gray  coat  over  a  swelling  heart, 
and  gave  a  rakish  slouch  to  the  military  cap  lest  the 
light  should  sparkle  upon  the  water  that  stood  in  his 
eyes.  I  could  see  the  evergreens  in  the  family  grave- 
yard at  the  foot  of  the  garden  from  where  I  sat ; 
knew  under  which  the  father's  white  head  was  pil- 
lowed, just  two  months  after  they  "  heard  from  Get. 
tysburg."  There  was  a  space  on  each  side  of  him  for 
another  grave.  That  on  the  right  was  to  be  filled  by 
his  wife  ;  that  on  the  left  was  meant  for  one  who  would 
never  be  laid  there.  But  the  earth  covered  the  boy 
as  kindly  and  securely  in  the  far  northern  battle- 
ground, the  sun  shone  as  brightly,  the  grass  was  as 
green.  What  mattered  the  separation  of  the  kindred 
dust  so  long  as  the  spirits  of  father  and  son  roamed 
the  heavenly  fields  in  company  ? 


Abigail's   Waiting.  179 

My  eyes  returned  to  the  figure  at  the  fireside — a 
comely  old  lady  in  a  widow's  dress,  with  eyes  that  saw 
too  far  in  these  latter  days  to  be  always  mournful, 
and  lips  whose  law  was  always  that  of  kindness. 

"  But,  Aunt  Anne,"  I  said,  "  you  have  mentioned 
but  three  in  whom  this  scribbling  propensity  was  de- 
veloped. Were  any  other  members  of  our  family 
given  to  the  same  indulgence  ?  " 

"  There  have  been  clergymen  by  the  score.  I  sup- 
pose they  hardly  come  under  the  head  of  authors. 
And  plenty  of  lawyers.  You  would  call  them  makers 
of  fiction,  wouldn't  you  ?"  with  a  smile  at  the  guileless 
satire.  "  But  have  you  never  heard  of  your  great- 
aunt-in-law,  Mrs.  Abigail  Carter,  wife  of  Colonel  Frank 
Carter,  who  fought  in  the  Revolution  ?  He  lived  and 
died  on  this  plantation  ;  indeed  he  built  this  part  of 
the  house  just  before  he  married  the  first  time,  for 
Abigail  was  his  second  wife.  There  is  no  portrait  of 
the  first,  but  hers  is  the  fourth  on  the  right-hand  side 
as  you  go  into  the  parlor  from  this  room." 

"  I  have  noticed  it.  It  is  the  lady  in  brown  brocade 
and  cherry  breast-knot.  Her  hair  is  dressed  in  close 
curls  on  the  temples,  and  she  has  a  sampler  in  her 
hand." 

"  Something  that  looks  like  a  sampler,  but  it  isn't. 
It  was  a  piece  of  her  own  work  that  the  Colonel  in- 
sisted upon  her  holding  while  the  painting  was  made. 
I  heard  all  about  it  while  I  was  on  a  visit  here  in  1828 
or  '9.  She  was  quite  an  old  lady  then,  and  her  hair 
was  like  silver,  but  she  wore  it  in  the  same  way,  and 
her  hands  were  as  elegant  in  shape.  Her  eyes  were 
lively,  and  her  voice  sweet  and  clear  as  a  bell.  Her 


I8o  Abigail's  Waiting. 

step-daughters  were  here,  too,  with  their  children  ; 
they  fairly  worshipped  her.  And  her  husband!  It 
was  beautiful  to  see  his  pride  in  and  love  for  her. 
One  doesn't  often  meet  such  old  married  lovers. 
But  she  was  very  lovely,  and  such  excellent  company 
for  everybody  that  she  couldn't  but  be  a  favorite. 
I  heard  the  story  then,  as  I  said — in  whispers  and 
bits,  as  it  were — but  I  had  almost  forgotten  it  until 
four  or  five  years  ago  my  Will  took  it  into  his  head 
on  a  rainy  day  to  overhaul  a  trunk  full  of  letters  and 
papers  that  was  in  the  garret  when  I  came  here  to 
live,  after  the  death  of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Carter.  My 
husband  was  the  Colonel's  nephew.  At  the  very  bot- 
tom he  found  a  book  bound  in  leather,  stamped  in 
gilt  letters  on  the  cover  with  the  name  "  ABIGAIL 
CARTER,"  and  nearly  filled  with  her  writing.  The 
paper  was  yellow,  with  brown  spots  all  over  it,  as  old 
manuscripts  will  be,  no  matter  how  dry  they  are  kept, 
but  Will  never  rested  until  he  had  made  it  all  out.  He 
read  it  aloud  to  his  father  and  myself  after  he  had 
been  through  it  once ;  and  when  we  told  him  that  it 
was  certainly  true,  just  as  she  had  set  it  down  (and 
my  husband  said  the  listening  to  it  was  like  hearing 
his  aunt  speak),  Will  was  as  excited  as  if  he  had 
opened  a  gold  mine.  Down  he  sat — it  was  in  his  college 
vacation — and  began  to  copy  it  out,  word  for  word. 
I  know  he  intended  to  have  it  printed  sometime — 
maybe  to  work  it  up  into  a  book — but  the  war  came. 
It  is  with  the  rest  of  his  papers." 

She  knit  away  industriously,  and  I  stared  into  the 
fire,  trying  to  frame  into  fitting  words  the  request  I 
did  not  quite  dare  to  prefer.  Presently  she  resumed  : — 


Abigail's   Waiting.  181 

"  I've  often  thought  of  you,  dear,  since  he  left  us, 
and  wondered  if  you  wouldn't  like  to  read  the  story. 
It  being  true,  and  about  your  own  kinspeople,  it 
seemed  to  me  likely  you'd  be  interested  in  it.  And  I 
am  loath  to  let  it  die  out  of  everybody's  mind,  as  it 
will,  if  it  does  not  pass  out  of  the  keeping  of  my  gen- 
eration. There  is  but  a  handful  of  us  left." 

Thus  it  happened  that  I  read,  and  carefully  com- 
pared with  the  faded  original,  the  heart-history  of 
Abigail  Gordon,  who  married  Francis  Carter,  copied 
out  in  clerkly  characters  by  the  hand  of  her  grand- 
nephew — the  hand  that  would  never  hold  pen  again. 

May  i$th,  1802. 

"  Please  get  me  a  new  scrap-book,"  I  said  to  Colonel 
Carter,  when  he  asked  me  what  he  should  bring  me 
from  Richmond,  whither  business  called  him  last  week. 
"  My  old  one  is  full." 

He  laughed  at  my  moderate  desire,  likening  it  to 
Beauty's  request  for  a  rose  when  her  sisters  begged  for 
jewels  and  fine  clothes  ;  but  he  brought  me  upon  his 
return,  besides  an  elegant  brown  brocade  silk,  this 
volume,  so  gay  in  its  gilded  binding,  so  fresh  with  its 
unturned  leaves,  it  is  almost  a  pity  to  defile  it  with  ink, 
to  use  it  as  I  did  the  bulky  book  stitched  together  and 
covered  by  myself.  Yet  there  is  fitness  in  the  contrast. 
Times  have  changed  with  me  as  well  as  books.  My 
shabby,  home-made  diary  was  the  best  I  could  afford. 
I  have  been  thinking  while  sitting  here  gazing  at  the 
two  lying  side  by  side,  whether  I  would,  if  I  could, 
strike  out  from  my  memory  so  much  of  my  life  as  is 
recorded  in  those  two  hundred  and  fifty  foolscap  pages; 


1 82  Abigail's  Waiting. 

put  myself  back  where  I  stood  this  day  fourteen  years 
ago,  and  take  from  that  point  what  seemed  then  the 
one  easy  step  to  this,  as  I  expected  and  hoped  at  that 
date  to  do.  It  is  well  that  GOD  does  not  leave  the 
decision  of  these  knotty  questions  to  us,  for  the  flesh 
is  very  weak,  human  sight  very  short.  HE  must  have 
had  some  gracious  purpose  in  turning  me  back  upon 
the  very  edge  6f  the  Promised  Land,  with  the  smell  of 
the  goodly  spices,  lilies  and  tender  grapes  in  my  nos- 
trils ;  the  sight  of  the  sweet  fields  just  before  me ;  the 
sound  of  fountains,  and  south  wind  and  singing-birds 
in  my  eager  ears,  and  causing  me  to  wander  so  long  in 
a  dry  and  bitter  desert.  .  But  the  pilgrimage  was  a 
sharp  trial. 

"You  should  write  it  all  out,  mother,"  said  Frances 
to  me  last  night. 

She  is  never  tired  of  catechising  me  about  my  past 
life ;  looks  upon  prosy,  practical  me  as  a  heroine  of 
romance.  Whereas  the  truth  is  that,  but  for  the 
happy  ending  of  my  probation,  my  experience  is  by 
no  means  remarkable.  It  saddens  me  to  think  to  how 
few,  whose  night  of  weeping  has  endured  longer  than 
did  mine,  the  day  ever  breaks  this  side  of  Jordan. 
Perhaps  they  will  enjoy  the  eternal  sunlight  more  for 
having  groped  so  long  in  the  darkness. 

This  is  a  delicious  day.  My  table  is  drawn  up  to 
the  open  window  about  which  the  white  jessamine 
climbs  and  flowers  luxuriantly.  The  vine  reared  from 
the  tiny  root  I  wrapped  in  moss,  and  packed  in  one 
corner  of  Frank's  knapsack  the  night  of  our  parting! 
I  thought  it  strange  then  that  he  asked  for  it,  I  so 
hoped  he  would  come  back  to  me  in  a  day  or  two.  It 


Abigail's   Waiting.  183 

was  as  if  he  had  a  presentiment  of  what  was  before  us- 
The  air  is  laden  with  the  perfume  that  hung  about 
another  window,  where  I  sat  and  sewed  on  that  long- 
ago  mid-May  day,  when,  chancing  to  raise  my  eyes,  I 
beheld  close  to  me,  outside  the  casement,  a  dusty  sol- 
dier, his  hat  in  his  hand,  waiting  patiently  my  notice. 
He  was  one  of  a  company  of  Virginia  troops  just  ar- 
rived in  our  village,  and  had  been  quartered  upon  us. 
I  was  startled  by  his  appearance,  and  not  appeased 
when  he  made  known  his  errand.  I  foresaw  that  the 
entertainment  of  a  stranger  would  entail  more  care 
upon  me  than  suited  my  taste.  Mother  was  not  well 
that  spring,  and  while  it  pleased  me  to  play  the  lady 
of  the  house  in  such  matters  as  giving  general  orders 
to  the  well-trained  servants,  and  sitting  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  carrying  a  jingling  bunch  of  keys  fast 
to  a  silver  chain  at  my  girdle,  I  did  not  relish  practi- 
cal housewifery ;  detested  confinement  and  regular 
hours.  -Moreover,  to  be  frank,  I  was  half  Tory  at 
heart,  a  lesson  learned  secretly  from  my  delicate  little 
mother,  whom  my  father — a  sturdy  Whig — had  trans- 
planted to  the  then  wild  Northern  Carolinas,  like  a 
white  English  rose,  twenty  years  before.  She  never 
took  root  in  the  foreign  soil,  clung  to  old-world  cus- 
toms and  prejudices,  and  regarded  herself  as  an  exile. 
She  "  had  high  notions,"  said  our  plainer  neighbors, 
for  our  house,  although  not  large,  was  better  furnished 
than  theirs ;  there  was  more  state  in  our  domestic 
arrangements  ;  and  I  had  a  governess  instead  of  going 
to  school.  This  last  appendage  to  our  household  was 
condemned  as  shameless  extravagance  by  these  good 
people,  and  my  parents  were  too  independent  of  their 


1 84  Abigail's   Waiting. 

opinion  to  explain  that  she  was  a  reduced  gentlewoman 
— my  mother's  cousin,  in  fact — who  had  no  other 
home.  We  lived  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 
My  father  was  a  planter,  and  I  was  eighteen  years  old 
when  Frank  Carter,  then  a  private  in  the  American 
army,  was  received  as  our  guest ;  cordially  by  my  fa- 
ther from  the  beginning,  by  my  mother  and  myself 
because  we  could  not  help  ourselves.  I  mention  this 
because  it  seems  so  marvellous  now,  especially  when  I 
recollect  how  soon  I  learned  to  love  him.  I  never 
called  the  feeling  by  any  other  name  after  the  first 
week  he  spent  with  us.  Before  a  fortnight  had  gone 
by,  I  knew  that  he  loved  me.  I  own  that  this  was 
hasty,  that  my  mother  had  reason  on  her  side  when 
she  held  up  her  hands  and  cried  out  vehemently 
against  our  betrothal  as  indecorous  and  imprudent. 
But  those  were  not  the  times  for  useless  and  ceremo- 
nious delays.  Frank  might  be  ordered  away  at  any 
moment,  and  we  not  look  upon  one  another's  faces 
again  for  months — perhaps  never  meet  more  in  this 
world.  Love  grows  and  ripens  fast  under  the  spell  of 
such  thoughts.  Then  we  had  been  together  daily,  al- 
most hourly,  and  however  others  might  carp  and  crit- 
icise, we  two  had  no  doubt  that  we  were  following  the 
lead  of  destiny  in  vowing  to  be  true  to  one  another  so 
long  as  we  both  should  live.  All  this  while  I  knew  my 
Frank  only  as  a  private  soldier,  fighting  on  foot  in  the 
ranks  of  the  Continental  army,  and  dependent,  for 
aught  I  could  say  to  the  contrary,  upon  the  scanty 
pay  doled  out  to  the  patriots  when  there  chanced  to 
be  any  money  in  the  national  treasury.  By  and  by, 
after  he  had  had  a  formal  business  talk  with  father, 


Abigail's   Waiting.  185 

mother  told  me  a  different  story.  I  was  going  to 
marry  into  one  of  the  best  families  in  Virginia.  Frank 
was  descended  from  good  old  English  stock,  and  he 
would  be  rich  in  time. 

"  That  is,  if  the  rebellion  should  succeed,  which  is 
very  doubtful,"  added  mother,  tryinff  to  conceal  her 
satisfaction  at  my  prospects  under  a  show  of  defiant 
loyalty  to  king  and  country. 

For  all  that,  I  think  she  hoped  that  the  Colonies 
would  make  good  their  assertion  of  independence. 
She  loved  her  husband,  and  she  loved  me,  and  she 
was  fast  learning  to  love  Frank.  Who  did  not  that 
knew  him  ?  There  was  no  more  popular  man  in  his 
regiment,  which  was  chiefly  made  up  of  gentlemen 
and  gentlemen's  sons.  By  the  time  he  had  been  a 
week  in  our  village,  every  dog  and  child  knew  and 
would  follow  him  for  a  word  or  caress.  Blessed  is  he 
whom  dumb  animals  and  babies  love ! 

Did  I  know  how  highly-favored  I  was  among  women  ? 
I  doubt  it.  True,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  was  perfectly 
happy.  I  remember  the  queer,  giddy  rush  of  rapture 
that  overwhelmed  me  once  in  a  while  when  I  went 
to  church,  or  walked  the  village  streets  with  my  noble 
soldier-lover,  and  saw  how  the  gaze  of  all  lingered  upon 
his  tall,  erect  figure  and  handsome,  bronzed  face,  and 
the  eyes  that  were  so  merry  yet  could  be  so  tender ; 
how  I  wondered,  dizzily,  if  it  were  not  too  good  to  be 
true  that  he  had  really  chosen  me  out  of  the  whole 
world,  and  would  make  me  his  wife  before  long ;  that, 
happen  what  might,  I  was  henceforth  to  be  nearest 
and  dearest  to  him  of  all  living  things.  I  believed, 
too,  that  nothing  this  side  of  heaven  could  be  more 


1 86  Abigail's   Waiting. 

entrancing  than  the  moonlight  evenings  we  enjoyed 
in  company,  sitting  upon  the  steps  of  the  south  porch 
— the  one  overrun  most  thickly  with  the  white  jessa- 
mine that  grew,  like  a  wild  creeper,  all  along  the  front 
of  the  house.  It  was  never  out  of  bloom  that  sum- 
mer, and  I  cannot  recall  a  night  without  a  moon. 
There  must  have  been,  of  course,  for  Frank  was  with 
us  two  months,  and  I  shall  never  forget  how  the  new 
moon  looked  the  night  he  went  away.  Still,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  was  too  ignorant  of  life  and  life's  changes  to 
understand  that  mine  was  an  unusual  lot.  It  was 
only  what  I  had  expected  all  through  my  undiscip- 
lined, dreaming  girlhood.  I  had  been  on  the  look-out 
for  the  fairy  prince  ever  since  I  was  allowed  to  put  up 
my  curls  with  a  new,  real  tortoise-shell  comb,  and 
that  he  had  appeared  was  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
however  I  might  rejoice  in  it. 

Many  a  girl's  love — genuine,  lasting  love — is  mixed 
with  the  alloy  of  vanity,  and  coquetry,  and  ungener- 
ous triumph  over  those  less  fortunate  than  herself,  al- 
though, Heaven  knows !  often  more  worthy.  I  am 
afraid  I  was  not  a  better  woman  for  this  great  happi- 
ness. It  is  certain  that  I  was  selfish  in  my  enjoyment 
of  it.  I  hope  I  had  too  much  sense  and  taste  to  give 
myself  unbecoming  airs,  in  virtue  of  my  new  riches ; 
but  inwardly  I  thanked— not  the  Giver  of  every  good 
and  perfect  gift — but  my  own  charms — my  bright  eyes, 
rosy  cheeks,  and  ready  tongue ;  my  superiority  in 
education  and  refinement  to  those  about  me — that  I 
was  not  as  other  girls  of  eighteen  were.  I  need  not 
wrinkle  my  smooth  forehead,  or  muddy  my  complexion 
by  anxieties  about  my  future.  My  fortune  had  been 


Abigail's  Waiting.  187 

laid  at  my  feet,  instead  of  my  going  forth  to  seek  it. 
I  was  but  a  child  after  all,  an  only  and  a  spoiled  child 
at  that.  The  furnace-fires  of  the  Father's  wise  love, 
not  His  wrath,  purge  our  best  affections  from  such 
unsightlyand  hurtful  dross. 

Two  months,  then — eight  swift  weeks — sixty-one 
golden,  fragrant  days — had  sped  by,  and  with  no  bod- 
ing of  sorrow  or  evil  upon  my  young  heart,  I  stood  in 
the  south  porch,  at  sunset  of  a  July  day,  watching  for 
Frank's  return  from  the  afternoon  drill.  Mother  had 
a  headache  ;  Cousin  Abigail  was  at  a  neighbor's,  help- 
ing nurse  a  sick  child ;  and  father  was  away  from 
home.  Frank  and  I  were  to  be  left  to  ourselves  at 
supper-time ;  and  I  had  ordered  the  cream-waffles 
and  fried  chicken,  of  which  he  was  particularly  fond, 
with  coffee,  fresh  pound  cake,  and  strawberry  pre- 
serves, and  dressed  myself  in  white  muslin,  with  jessa- 
mine stars  in  my  hair,  to  do  honor  to  his  little  feast. 
I  felt  fresh  and  joyous,  although  I  had  been  hard  at 
work  all  day  upon  a  cartridge-box  cover  intended  as  a 
surprise  for  Frank.  I  had  embroidered  the  canvas 
sides  without  exciting  his  suspicions,  leaving  him  to 
suppose  that  they  were  for  a  work-bag.  Every  stitch 
was  set  to  the  music  of  my  happy  heart-beats ;  every 
leaf  and  tint  had  its  association  with  loving  thoughts 
of  him.  I  had  worked  him  into  it  all  over,  although 
other  eyes  could  only  see  two  nosegays  of  roses,  lilies, 
clove  pinks,  and  the  like,  bordered  with  a  wreath  of 
white  jessamine — our  flower  from  the  instant  he  saw 
me,  for  the  first  time,  framed  by  its  branches,  at  the 
south  window.  I  had  coaxed  the  village  saddler  to 
cut  out  the  morocco  pieces  for  the  ends  and  flap,  and 


1 88  Abigail's  Waiting. 

to  stitch  the  buckles  on  the  straps,  also  to  lend  me  an 
awl  to  puncture  the  holes  for  my  needle.  The  rest  I 
did  myself,  and  many  a  sore  prick  my  fingers  received 
in  the  task.  But  it  was  finished,  and  very  handsome 
it  was,  and  how  pleased  my  darling  would  be  when  I 
should  rip  away  the  tattered  covers  from  the  wooden 
frame  he  had  used  ever  since  his  enlistment,  and  slip 
on  the  new  one !  said  I  to  myself,  with  all  manner  of 
other  sweet  and  pleasant  things,  idly  noticing  the 
while  the  bank  of  dun-colored  cloud  lying  in  wait  on 
the  tree-tops  for  the  sinking  sun;  the  shining  rim  that 
a  few  moments  later  showed  where  he  had  been  swal- 
lowed up  ;  the  glittering  dust  in  the  public  road,  raised 
by  a  horseman  going  toward  the  country  and  by  a 
drove  of  cows  coming  into  the  village, — and  humming 
a  little  love-song  Frank  had  taught  me.  At  last  I  saw 
him  walking  up  the  lane  faster  than  usual,  because  he 
was  late,  I  supposed.  Just  before  he  reached  me,  I 
stepped  down  into  the  path  to  meet  him,  and  as  I  did 
so  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  pale  young  moon  in  the 
west. 

"  O  Frank ! "  I  cried,  in  pretended  distress,  "  I  have 
seen  the  new  moon  over  my  left  shoulder."  He  did 
not  say  a  word,  only  took  me  in  his  arms  there  in  the 
broad  daylight,  and  out  of  doors,  in  sight  of  every- 
body who  might  be  passing,  and  kissed  me  again  and 
again.  I  was  frightened  and  angry,  until  I  looked  in 
his  face  and  saw  that  he  was  pale  as  death,  and  his 
dear  eyes  full  of  tears.  Then  I  begged  him  to  tell  me 
"  all." 

He  kept  back  nothing.  The  regiment  was  to  march 
in  an  hour,  and  there  would  be  a  battle  on  the  mor- 


Abigail's   Waiting.  189 

row,  with  superior  numbers,  too.  If  victorious,  he 
would  come  back  to  me  in  a  few  days.  If  not,  it 
might  be  a  weary  while  before  we  met  again.  I  did 
not  scream  or  faint.  I  even  urged  him  to  eat  his  sup- 
per, while  I  packed  his  knapsack — for  was  he  not  my 
promised  husband? — and  filled  with  my  own  hands 
the  new  cartridge-box  I  had  prepared.  We  said 
"  Good-by !  "  on  the  door-step,  the  jessamine  streamers 
brushing  our  heads,  as  he  stooped  to  lay  his  cheek  to 
mine  for  the  last  time,  and  the  faint,  young  moon 
looking  sorrowfully  at  us  as  she  entered  the  lead- 
colored  clouds  in  the  horizon. 

"  If  all  goes  well  with  us  you  will  hear  from  me  very 
soon,"  he  said.  "  If  not,  dear,  trust  in  GOD  !  He  will 
never  forsake  or  disappoint  you,  and  He  lives  forever !  " 

I  did  not  take  in  the  full  meaning  of  the  words 
when  they  were  spoken.  I  hope  to  tell  through  all 
eternity  how  much  they  signified  to  me  in  the  many 
days  of  darkness  to  which  this  farewell  was  but  the 
gentle  twilight. 

The  battle  did  take  place — a  desperate  one,  in  which 
the  patriots  were  driven  back  many  miles  from  their 
original  position  with  great  loss.  The  victors  poured 
into  our  little  village,  flooding  it  with  a  racketing,  riot- 
ous rabble,  foraging  and  pillaging,  without  let  or  stay, 
for  a  whole  day,  until  their  officers  could  restore  disci- 
pline. Our  able-bodied  men  were  all  absent  with  the 
army,  where  my  father  would  also  have  been  but 
for  the  lameness  left  by  a  violent  attack  of  rheuma- 
tism. August,  September,  October,  and  November 
dragged  wretchedly  by,tand  there  was  neither  mes- 
sage nor  letter  from  Frank — only  a  report  brought  in 


1 90  A  bigail's  Waiting. 

by  an  escaped  scout  to  the  effect  that  he  had  been 
seen  to  fall  among  the  first  that  went  down  before  the 
British  fire,  a  rumor  that  every  day  made  more  likely. 
In  December  my  father  died  suddenly  from  rheuma- 
tism of  the  heart,  leaving  us  almost  penniless.  The 
executor  told  me  this  before  that  fearfully  stormy  Feb- 
ruary day,  when  I  watched  beside  my  mother's 
death-bed.  She  had  never  held  up  her  head  after  her 
husband's  funeral.  I  could  feel  and  say  even  then, 
"  The  will  of  the  Lord  be  done !  "  for  she  had  not 
guessed  how  near  the  wolf  was  to  the  door,  and  she 
was  utterly  unfit  to  struggle  with  poverty.  The  plan- 
tation was  heavily  mortgaged,  and  there  were  no  ser- 
vants to  work  it,  our  best  "  hands"  having  been  enticed 
or  driven  away  by  the  enemy.  The  war  had  made  all 
other  kinds  of  property  worthless.  There  was  no  use 
puzzling  over  the  manner  in  which  the  sum  was 
worked.  The  total  was  plain  to  sight,  and  it  was 
"  Ruin."  Beggary  or  hard  work — these  were  the  al- 
ternatives set  before  my  timid,  terrified  cousin-gover- 
ness and  myself.  We  could  ply  neither  trade  with 
any  hope  of  success  in  the  war-swept  region  in  which 
we  were.  The  winter  was  very  severe.  Between  the 
frost  and  the  royal  troops,  hardly  enough  remained  by 
spring  to  keep  a  field-mouse  alive.  I  sold  everything 
that  anybody  would  buy,  gave  away  what  I  could  not 
sell,  and,  slipping  through  the  red-coat  lines,  made  my 
way,  slowly  and  arduously,  with  my  one  companion, 
northward.  My  mother's  sister  lived  in  Philadelphia, 
and  I  had  a  shadowy  idea  that  she  would  find  me 
work. 

In  Richmond  my  cousin  sickened  and  lay  ill  so  long 


Abigail's   Waiting.  191 

that  when  she  died  I  had  to  apply  to  the  town  poor- 
master  for  means  to  bury  her.  The  thought  came  to 
me,  as  I  stood  by  the  narrow  pit  into  which  they  were 
lowering  the  unpainted  pine  coffin,  what  my  mother 
would  have  felt  and  said  had  she  been  told  that  one 
of  her  kindred — a  Gordon  in  blood  and  name — who 
had  formed  a  part  of  her  own  household,  would  fill  a 
pauper's  grave.  But  I  was  past  being  hurt  by  this  or 
any  other  stroke  to  my  pride.  I  was  thankful — I 
could  never  be  glad  again,  so  I  believed — that  my 
cousin — dear,  patient,  unworldly  sufferer  ! — had  got 
rid  of  this  wearisome  thing  men  call  existence,  and  I 
wished,  with  a  sort  of  leaden,  dull  heartache  I  ought 
to  have  got  used  to  by  this  time,  that  I  could  be 
buried  up  with  her,  end  my  journey  and  my  cares 
there.  I  did  not  weep  over  the  humble  mound  cover- 
ing my  last  earthly  friend.  Nor  did  I  pray  that  the 
affliction  might  make  me  more  fit  to  rejoin  those  who 
had  gone  before  me  to  the  land  where  none  say  "  I 
am  sick,"  where  sorrow  and  crying  are  exchanged  for 
crowns  and  psalms. 

I  only  kept  saying  over  and  over  to  myself  in  a 
stupid  way :  "  '  This  life  which  is  a  continual  death,'  '  a 
continual  death,'  '  a  continual  death! ' 

Had  I  not  found  it  so  ?  First,  my  Frank  gave  up 
his  breath  in  that  bloody  fight ;  then  both  my  parents 
were  taken  ;  and  now  the  kinswoman  whose  name- 
sake and  pet  I  was.  All  within  one  year !  It  was  a 
July  sun  that  beat  sickeningly  upon  my  head  as  I 
turned  from  the  grave  to  answer  the  questions  of  a 
curious  or  conscientious  man  who  had  directed  the 
sexton's  movements. 


192  Abigail's  Waiting. 

"  Must  make  an  entry  of  the  burial,  you  see,"  he 
said,  producing  a  well-thumbed  book  from  his  pocket. 
" '  Abigail  Gordon,  spinster,'  you  say  ? "  writing  it 
down.  "  No  use  asking  her  age.  Spinsters  never 
rise  twenty-five.  From  North  Carolina,  I  understand. 
That's  all  I  want." 

The  colored  sexton  shouldered  his  spade  and  pick- 
axe, wound  up  the  cord  used  in  letting  down  the 
coffin,  and  went  off  whistling  in  one  direction,  the 
other  man  in  another.  I  trudged  back  from  the 
Potter's  Field  to  my  miserable  lodgings ;  paid  my 
bill  with  the  last  valuable  I  had — my  father's  watch — 
and,  rather  than  trespass  upon  the  grudged  charity  of 
my  late  hosts,  set  out  to  inquire  from  door  to  door 
for  a  situation  as  nursery-governess,  seamstress,  cham- 
bermaid, scullion — anything  by  which  I  could  keep 
myself  from  vagrancy  and  starvation.  I  could  not 
expect  more  than  an  humble  position,  dressed  as  I  was 
in  my  threadbare  mourning,  and  confessing  with  my 
first  utterance  to  each  person  I  accosted  that  I  was  a 
stranger  in  the  city,  without  references  or  credentials. 
Yet  if  I  had  hoped  at  all,  I  should  have  aspired  to 
something  a  degree  better  than  the  post  of  maid-of- 
all-work  in  the  family  of  a  man  who  kept  a  low  gro- 
cery and  liquor  store,  and  lived  in  the  same  building. 
But  I  had  a  room  to  myself,  and  I  stayed  a  month. 
My  mistress  was  a  coarse,  raw-boned  slattern,  and  a 
virago  as  well ;  the  children  were  ungovernable ;  the 
place  a  hell  by  night  with  the  fights  and  the  swearing 
below,  and  uncomfortable  as  dirt  and  ill-temper  could 
make  it  by  day.  I  had  no  other  hole  in  which  to 
hide,  and  my  sensibilities  were  benumbed,  so  I  did 


Abigail's   Waiting.  193 

not  mind  all  this  so  much  as  I  did  the  familiarity  of  the 
master  of  the  premises,  when  he,  one  day,  in  a  drunken 
fit,  offered  to  kiss  me.  I  broke  away  from  him  un- 
aided, his  wife  being  absent  at  the  time,  flew  up  to  my 
garret-chamber,  made  my  clothes  into  a  bundle,  ran 
down  stairs  and  out  at  the  front  door,  and  never  saw 
him  or  his  house  again.  It  was  a  humiliation,  yet  it 
did  me  thus  much  good.  It  proved  that  I  could  feel, 
and  act  upon  that  emotion. 

My  next  venture  was  as  seamstress — the  helper  of 
an  overworked  mantua-maker,  whose  customers  were 
all  from  the  lower  walks  of  life,  most  of  them  negroes. 
She  was  kind  to  me,  and  I  smothered  my  disgust  and 
labored  early  and  late  for  eighteen  months  in  the 
low-ceiled  hut — it  was  scarcely  more — breathing  bad 
air  winter  and  summer,  for  the  place  was  never  clean, 
until  my  employer  married  her  second  husband,  and 
had  no  further  use  for  my  services.  She  was  going  to 
give  up  work,  she  said,  and  I  fancy  she  thought  me 
too  good-looking  to  be  a  safe  inmate  of  her  new  home. 
She  made  me  a  little  present  in  money  on  her  wed- 
ding-day, and  when  I  put  it  with  the  scanty  earnings 
I  had  hoarded  up,  I  cried  for  joy  at  discovering 
that  it  would  take  me  to  Philadelphia.  I  had  not 
written  to  my  aunt  except  just  after  my  mother's 
death  to  announce  that  event.  I  sent  a  letter  before 
me  now  to  ask  for  employment,  and  followed  by  the 
cheapest  conveyances  I  could  procure.  It  cost  me 
some  trouble  and  much  perplexity  to  find  my  moth- 
er's sister.  I  had  not  expected  that  she  would  be  so 
great  a  lady  and  live  in  so  grand  a  house.  Her  hus- 
band was  an  army-contractor,  and  famishing  though 


194  Abigail's   Waiting. 

the  soldiers  were  said  to  be,  the  business  must  have 
been  a  profitable  one,  for  everything  in  his  style  of 
living  was  on  a  yery  liberal  scale — except  my  wages. 
My  aunt  would  not  hear  of  my  attempting  to  earn  my 
living. 

/  "  It  would  be  a  lasting  disgrace  to  the  family,"  she 
said.  "  My  poor  sister  would  not  rest  in  her  grave  if 
I  were  to  allow  it.  She,  who  thought  so  much  of  the 
Gordon  name  that  she  married  her  cousin,  we  used  to 
say  because  she  didn't  think  any  other  family  in  the 
land  was  fit  to  mate  with  hers  !  No,  my  sweet  niece ! 
my  house  must  be  your  home  until  you  leave  it  for  one 
of  your  own.  If  you  must  have  some  nominal  duties 
in  order  that  you  may  feel  independent,  you  may  play 
at  teaching  my  cherubs,  look  after  their  clothes,  and 
so  forth,  and  be  as  happy  as  your  mother's  daughter 
ought  to  be." 

Then  she  embraced  me.  The  plain  English  of  all 
this  was  that  I  was  to  live  ten  years  under  that  roof, 
a  drudge,  who  was  thanked  superfluously  with  words, 
and  paid  for  excessive  and  wearing  labors  with  her 
board,  lodging,  and  the  cast-off  clothes  of  her  task- 
mistress.  I  slept  in  the  room  with  two  of  the 
"  cherubs ; "  washed  and  dressed  all  four,  and  made 
and  mended  their  clothes ;  heard  their  lessons ;  took 
them  out  to  walk,  and  bore  without  the  right 
of  complaint  all  their  humors  and  petty  tyranny ; 
dressed  my  young  lady-cousins  for  parties,  and  balls, 
and  dinners;  and,  lest  time  should  go  heavily  while  I 
sat  up  for  their  return,  nearly  every  night  had  set 
tasks  of  embroidery  of  various  kinds. 

"Active  employment  is  beneficial  for  the  mind  and 


A  bigail  's   Waiting.  195 

body,"  my  aunt  would  say,  when  she  allotted  each 
new  burden,  and  I  thought,  but  never  spoke,  of  the 
Israelites  in  Egypt. 

I  was  thirty  years  old  when  one  who  was  a  true 
gentleman,  with  birth,  breeding,  and  wealth  to  sup- 
port his  claim  to  the  title,  sought  my  acquaintance ; 
contrived  to  improve  it  by  escorting  me  home  from 
church,  and  meeting  me  when  I  was  walking  with  the 
children — finally,  offered  to  marry  me.  He  was  a 
childless  widower  of  forty,  with  no  near  relatives  ex- 
cept a  married  sister.  I  had  heard  of  people  being 
haunted  by  the  shades  of  the  loved  and  departed,  but 
the  night  succeeding  this  proposal  I  learned  for  my- 
self what  such  visitations  were.  I  had  watched  out 
the  small  hours,  being  in  an  agony  of  indecision.  My 
life  was  so  mean  and  barren  nowadays,  had  been  so 
overloaded  with  sorrow  in  those  that  were  past,  that 
any  change  seemed  welcome.  I  told  myself  that  Mr. 
Seabrook  merited  my  affection,  as  he  had  won  my 
esteem ;  that  the  lot  he  offered  me  was  like  release 
from  a  hateful  prison-house ;  that,  since  youth  and  its 
dreams  had  gone  forever,  it  behooved  me  to  make 
provision  for  old  age  and  possible  ill  health.  And 
how  could  this  be  done  so  surely  as  by  accepting  the 
hand  of  this  kind  and  honorable  gentleman  ?  His  was 
the  only  offer  I  had  had  in  twelve  years.  It  was  not 
likely  that  the  opportunity  would  be  repeated  shortly, 
if  ever.  I  had  told  him  I  never  meant  to  marry,  and 
he  had  entreated  me  to  think  the  matter  over  for  one 
day  more.  No  doubt  my  hesitation  must  have  seemed 
odd  enough  to  him,  for  he  knew  what  my  circum- 
stances were.  I  had  fallen  asleep  about  four  o'clock 


196  Abigail's   Waiting. 

—a  restless,  unrefreshing  slumber,  when  I  thought  that 
I  opened  my  eyes  upon  Frank  Carter  standing  at  my 
bedside.  He  had  a  spray  of  white  jessamine  in  his 
hand,  and  laid  it  on  my  pillow.  It  was  wet  with  dew, 
and  smelled  just  as  that  did  at  home  on  the  moonlight 
nights,  when  we  sat  together  hand  in  hand  on  the 
doorstep. 

"  O  Abby !  "  he  said,  in  tender  reproach,  "  can't  you 
wait  for  me  a  little  longer?  just  a  little  longer?" 

I  could  feel  his  kiss  upon  my  lips,  and  still  smell  the 
jessamine,  when  I  awoke  myself  with  my  sobbing.  I 
told  Mr.  Seabrook  all  about  it  the  next  day. 

"  He  has  been  in  his  grave  twelve  years,"  said  I, 
"  but  his  image  is  as  fresh  in  my  heart  as  if  we  had 
parted  yesterday.  It  would  be  a  sin  for  me  to  marry 
any  other  man  while  this  is  so." 

"You  are  right,"  he  answered.  "But  few  women 
are  so  faithful.  I  doubt  if  men  ever  are.  I  will  not 
press  you  further,  but  I  can  never  be  less  than  your 
friend." 

He  kissed  my  hand  at  that  and  went  away,  and  I 
cried  heartily  because  I  could  not  love  him  as  he  de- 
served to  be  loved.  He  sent  his  sister  to  see  me, 
and  to  her  under  Heaven  I  owe  the  happiness  of  my 
after  life.  It  was  through  her  influence  that  I  ob- 
tained the  place  of  assistant  in  a  large  and  popular 
boarding  school  for  young  ladies,  much  to  my  aunt's 
displeasure.  She  never  visited  or  spoke  to  me  after 
this  glaring  instance  of  disobedience  and  ingratitude. 
My  new  life  was  very  pleasant,  and  my  duties  light,  in 
comparison  with  the  burden  I  had  carried  so  long.  I 
taught  the  primary  classes  in  English,  and  instructed 


Abigail's  Waiting.  197 

the  larger  girls  in  fine  needlework,  embroidery,  and 
painting  upon  velvet,  and  heartily  enjoyed  their 
society  and  my  occupation. 

One  October  day  there  appeared  in  my  sewing 
class  two  new  faces,  fine  frank  ones,  too,  belonging  to 
sisters,  nine  and  eleven  years  old.  They  clung  to- 
gether, and  looked  so  abashed  by  the  formidable 
array  of  strangers  that  I  pitied  them,  and  instead  of 
speaking  to  them  across  the  room,  went  up  close  to 
their  seat,  and  laid  my  hand  encouragingly  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  elder,  as  I  asked  what  were  their 
names. 

."  Frances  and  Maria  Carr,"  so  I  interpreted  the  shy 
whisper,  twice  repeated  at  my  request,  and  thus  it 
went  down  in  my  class-book. 

If  I  had  made  any  mistake  in  the  surname,  nobody 
corrected  it,  and  I  soon  ceased  to  use  it  as  I  became 
better  acquainted  with  the  girls.  They  were  from 
Virginia,  and  the  discovery  that  this  was  so  did  not 
lessen  the  liking  that  I  had  conceived  for  them  from 
the  first.  They  returned  my  affection  in  abundant 
measures,  and  we  were  on  affectionate  terms  before 
they  had  been  my  pupils  a  month.  When  I  found 
out  that  they  were  motherless  and  had  no  visiting 
places  in  Philadelphia,  I  invited  them  to  run  into  my 
room  whenever  they  felt  like  it ;  let  them  talk  as 
freely  as  their  warm  hearts  prompted,  of  home  and 
neighborhood  gossip  and  "  papa."  About  the  middle 
of  December  Frances  was  confined  to  her  bed  by  a 
cold,  and  the  principal  permitted  me  to  remove  her  to 
my  chamber,  where  I  might  nurse  her  and  give  her 
as  much  of  my  company  as  my  school-duties  allowed. 


198  Abigail's   Waiting. 

The  dear  child  was  charmed  with  the  arrangement, 
and  so  grateful  for  the  little  I  could  do  for  her,  that 
the  charge  was  a  pleasure,  not  a  care  to  me. 

We  were  all  three  together  on  the  2$d  of  De- 
cember, sitting  around  my  cheerful  fire.  Frances  in 
an  easy  chair,  Maria  and  I  busy  with  our  needles. 
"  Papa  "  had  almost  promised  to  pay  his  daughters  a 
flying  visit  during  the  holidays,  and  each  had  pre- 
pared a  present  for  him.  Maria's  was  a  buckskin 
tobacco  pouch,  worked  with  silk  and  beads ;  Frances 
had  half  finished  a  pair  of  braces  when  she  was  taken 
sick,  and  I  had  gone  on  with  them  much  to  her  de- 
light. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  so  many  beautiful  stitches, 
Miss  Gordon  ?  "  she  inquired,  watching  the  pattern  as 
it  grew  under  my  hand.  "  How  many  do  you  know 
in  all?" 

"  About  a  dozen,  I  believe,"  I  replied,  "  And  my 
teacher  was  my  governess,  an  English  lady." 

"  That  is  funny  !  "  prattled  on  the  child.  "  The 
handsomest  piece  of  tapestry  I  ever  saw  until  I  came 
here  was  worked  by  an  English  lady.  So  Aunt  Mar- 
garet— papa's  sister — told  me.  She  made  it  into  a 
work-bag  for  me,  but  charged  me  to  take  great  care 
of  it,  and  not  to  let  papa  see  it,  for  it  would  make  him 
feel  badly  maybe.  He  loved  the  lady  very  dearly, 
but  she  died  or  ran  away,  or  something  else  dreadful. 
It  almost  killed  him,  Aunt  Margaret  said,  but  after 
awhile  he  got  over  it  and  married  mamma,  who  had 
been  just  like  a  sister  to  him  always.  '  Ria,'  won't 
you  please  get  the  bag  out  of  my  trunk  ?  There  are 
some  stitches  I  want  to  know  the  names  of." 


Abigail's   Waiting.  199 

I  was  counting  the  stitches  on  the  last  row  of  my 
work,  and  did  not  take  my  eyes  from  it  until  Maria 
laid  upon  my  knee  the  very  cover  I  had  embroidered 
for  Frank's  cartridge  box  !  I  must  have  behaved  like 
one  demented,  for  when  I  found  my  senses  and  right 
words  I  was  kissing  the  embroidery  as  if  it  had  been 
alive  and  conscious.  Frances  looked  scared,  and  lit- 
tle Maria  had  begun  to  cry.  It  was  this,  I  believe, 
that  brought  me  to. 

I  can't  write  down  all  that  happened  in  the  next 
few  days,  but  this  is  not  because  I  have  forgotten 
one  of  the  events  which  crowded  thick  and  fast  upon 
me.  Colonel  Carter  came  on  Christmas  Day,  and 
when  introduced  to  his  daughter's  teacher  and  nurse, 
recognized  me  at  once.  I  had  not  anticipated  this. 
Still  less  had  I  dared  hope  that  his  love  would  revive 
with  all  the  fervor  of  youthful  passion  when  he  found 
that  I  was  alive  and  single.  He  had  sought  me  in 
vain  when  military  engagements  suffered  him  to  re- 
visit my  old  home.  With  infinite  trouble  he  had 
traced  me  to  Richmond,  then  to  the  Potter's  Field, 
having  learned  accidentally  that  a  woman  named 
Gordon  had  been  buried  there  in  July.  Inquiry  of 
the  official  who  had  jested  over  my  poor  cousin's 
newly-made  grave  led  to  an  examination  of  his  book. 
There  he  read,  "  Abigail  Gordon,  Spinster.  Aged 
20.  Birthplace,  North  Carolina."  Col.  Carter  erected 
a  headstone  above  the  neglected  grave,  and  had  the 
weeds  cut  down.  I  was  grateful  that  it  was  thus 
honored,  even  by  mistake.  Then  he  went  home,  to 
mourn  for  me  in  bitterness  of  soul,  as  I  had  for  him. 
A  year  later  he  married  an  orphan  cousin  who  had 


2OO  Abigail's  Waiting. 

lived  with  his  mother  from  her  babyhood,  and  of 
whom  she  was  extremely  fond.  Not  even  the  knowl- 
edge of  this  could  disturb  the  full  peace  of  my  soul  in 
the  thought  that  he  was  given  back  to  my  yearning 
heart.  I  felt  sure,  although  he  did  not  say  it  in  so 
many  words,  that  he  was  all  the  time  waiting  for  me 
in  spirit. 

We  were  married  on  New  Year's  Day.  Frank 
would  not  lose  sight  of  me  again.  We  brought  our 
children  home  with  us. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Will  Moore's  copy  broke  off  here,  for  there  was  a 
lapse  of  several  months  between  this  and  the  next 
entry.  Evidently  Mistress  Abigail  Carter  found  hap- 
piness and  wedlock  unfavorable  to  the  habit  of  jour- 
nalizing. On  "  Oct.  9th,"  there  was  a  memorandum 
in  a  bolder  hand. 

"  This  morning,  at  half -past  six  o'clock,  our  boy, 
HENRY  GORDON  CARTER,  was  born.  He  is  a  fine 
child.  Weight,  ten  pounds.  The  mother  is  glad,  and 
doing  well.  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul !  " 

The  births  of  three  other  children  were  recorded  by 
the  same  hand  within  the  next  six  years,  and  when 
the  youngest  was  four  summers  old  the  mother  re- 
sumed the  pen.  Homely  chronicles,  but  pleasant,  of 
plantation  life,  were  set  down  in  her  genial  style ; 
comic  and  deep  sayings  of  "  the  children  ; "  bits  of 
moralizing ;  criticisms  of  books  she  was  reading,  usu- 
ally "with  Frank;"  and  as  time  went  on  graver 
thoughts  upon  life  and  the  beyond  she  felt  she  was 


Abigail's   Waiting.  201 

nearing  ;  aspirations  after  purer  and  higher  things  than 
the  fleeting  joys  of  earth  ;  until  within  three  leaves  of 
the  end  of  the  book  a  record  was  set  in  the  middle  of 
the  page. 

"May  i$t/i,  1830.  My  beloved  liusband  passed  before 
me  into  the  visible  presence  of  the  Lord  this  day  at  sun- 
set. 7  must  -wait  yet  a  little  while  until  my  change 
come.  Even  so.  Father,  for  so  it  seems  good  in  Thy 
sight  !  " 

"You  wouldn't  believe,"  said  dear  Aunt  Anne,  as 
I  softly  shut  the  book,  and  fell  into  a  reverie,  heark- 
ening to  the  drip  of  the  February  rain  and  the  shrill 
sigh  of  the  night  wind,  "  that  the  white  jessamine  she 
talks  so  much  about  is  alive  still — or  another  that  has 
come  up  from  the  old  root — and  that  it  blooms  every 
summer  ! " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  I  answered,  dreamily,  my  thoughts 
still  roaming  back  through  the  twilight  vista  I  had 
been  traversing  all  the  evening,  "  I  do  believe  it.  I 
could  believe,  too,  that  it  will  never  die," 


HOW  "MAD  MARCY"  WAS  TAMED. 


PART  I. 

JUDGE    MARCY,   the    professor-in-chief   of   the   law 

department  of University,  was  a  man  of  stately 

presence,  grave  visage,  and  dignified  speech.  His 
wife — "  the  present  Mrs.  Marcy,"  as  those  who  re- 
membered his  first  spouse  styled  her — was  likewise 
stately,  sedate,  and  rectilinear  in  ideas  and  language. 
"  An  admirably-matched  pair,"  said  the  wiseacres  who 
had  never  made  a  psychological  test  of  the  principle 
that  the  globular  is  not  the  best  figure  for  snug 
and  economical  packing.  The  wonder  was,  continued 
the  sage  gossips — and  of  gossips,  wise  and  foolish, 
there  is  always  a  superfluity  in  a  college-town — the 
wonder  was  that  a  father  so  learned  and  a  stepmother 
so  exemplary  in  all  the  relations  of  life  should  have 
sent  forth  into  society  such  a  harum-scarum  romp  as 
the  judge's  second  daughter,  Madeline.  Laura,  the 
eldest  child,  was  a  pensive  blonde,  with  languishing 
bronze  eyes,  a  straight  nose,  low,  smooth  brow,  and 
a  captivating  drawl,  whom  gushing  sophomores  and 
classic  seniors  addressed  in  trochaic  and  hexameter 
as  each  of  the  Muses  in  turn,  as  Sappho,  St.  Cecilia, 
and  chaste  Diana.  She  never  transgressed  the  pro- 
203 


2O4  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

prieties,  kept  on  amiable  terms  with  her  prim  step- 
mother, worked  marvellous  chairs,  and  foot-rests,  and 
fender-stools  for  fancy  fairs,  and  was  the  "  loveliest  of 
created  beings  "  to  half  the  ladies  in  town,  young  and 
old.  Dora,  Madeline's  junior  by  two  years,  was  a  rosy, 
dimpled  darling,  all  coo,  and  purr,  and  smiles,  with  be- 
witching shoulders  she  had  a  trick  of  shrugging  depre- 
catingly  upon  suitable  occasions,  and  pretty  hands  she 
displayed  in  the  most  artless  manner  imaginable  at  the 
piano,  at  draughts,  and  most  effectively  at  backgam- 
mon. Chess  was  "  too  much  for  her,"  she  lamented, 
sweetly  and  frankly.  "  She  had  not  brains  enough 
for  the  management  of  castles,  and  kings,  and  queens, 
and  she  preferred  real  to  chess  knights,"  archly  but 
shyly.  Madeline  played  a  dashing  game,  and  her 
father  was  oftenest  her  opponent. 

"  The  child  has  fair,  natural  abilities,"  he  said,  the 
first  time  she  beat  him,  who  was  the  ablest  chess- 
player in  town  or  university  ;  "  but  she  has  not  been 
trained  to  habits  of  diligent  concentration." 

After  this  he  would  have  her  in  his  study  every  day 
for  six  months  to  study  mathematics  under  his  guide. 
Mrs.  Marcy  shook  her  head  dolorously  over  the  scheme. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  steadiness  in  her  com- 
*  position,  judge.  No  amount  of  drilling  will  repair 
this  radical  defect." 

The  judge  began  to  think  as  much  when,  at  the 
conclusion  of  a  serious  lecture  upon  the  importance 
of  geometrical  calculations  as  a  regulator  of  thought, 
and,  indirectly  as  a  balance-wheel  to  character — 
pending  which  his  daughter  had  sat  mute  and  respect- 
ful, her  head  bent  over  her  diagram-book,  while  she 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  205 

seemed  to  scribble  mechanically  upon  a  blank  leaf — 
she  handed  him  a  clever  sketch  of  the  pans  asinorum, 
with  a  ragged,  lean  donkey,  whose  despairing  face  was  a 
caricature  of  her  own,  vainly  essaying  the  ascent  of  the 
steep  sides.  He  frowned  at  it  and  at  her,  declared  his 
course  of  lessons  at  an  end  and  herself  at  liberty  to 
follow  the  bent  of  her  own  tastes,  and  when  she  had 
gone  examined  the  drawing  in  grim  amusement. 

"  She  is  unique,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  is  plain 
that  the  mathematical  is  not  her  forte.  Her  success 
in  all  branches  of  science  and  literature  will  be  like  her 
chess  victories — a  brilliant  accident.  Poor  child  !  " 

Madeline  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea  of  receiv- 
ing pity  even  from  the  parent  she  loved,  and  whose 
partiality  for  herself  she  more  than  suspected.  The 
gay,  high  spirit  that  had  made  sunshine  even  in  the 
shadiest  places  of  Euclid  gilded  whatever  she  looked' 
upon.  Life  was  a  glorious  holiday — and  hers  !  She 
would  make  the  best  of  the  flying  hours  if  only  be- 
cause they  were  fleeting.  And  possessing  a  body  as 
sound  and  vigorous  and  instinct  with  vitality  as  was 
her  spirit,  her  pranks  were  the  theme  of  every  tongue, 
the  boast  of  her  admirers,  the  text  from  which  de- 
corous censors  preached  fearful  things.  Music,  in- 
strumental as  well  as  vocal,  "  came  to  her,"  instead  of< 
being  taught.  Without  knowing  the  name  of  a  note 
or  learning  a  rule,  she  carried  off  the  palm  of  delighted 
admiration  from  all  the  scientific  performers  in  her 
circle  of  musical  acquaintances. 

"  With  a  proper  tuition  she  could  be  worked  up  into  a 
prodigy,"  said  a  would-be  art-critic  once  in  her  hearing. 

Nobody  dared  laugh  openly  at  the  speech,  except 


206  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

audacious  Madeline,  who  further  horrified  the  cautious 
prophet  by  turning  to  the  piano  and  whistling  clearly 
and  strongly  to  an  ingenious  accompaniment  beautiful 
variations  of  a  popular  air. 

"  Like  a  veritable  mocking-bird  !  "  cried  the  major- 
ity. 

"  Like  a  rowdyish  newsboy  !  "  muttered  the  opposi- 
tion. 

The  latter  would  have  it  that  she  deliberately 
planned  the  outrages  upon  rule  and  precedent  that 
continually  startled  the  arbiters  of  social  and  maidenly 
etiquette  who  kept  watch  and  ward  over  the  old  col- 
legiate town  ;  that  such  straining  after  effect  was  not 
only  "  in  miserable  taste,"  but  betokened  a  wilful  and 
malicious  disregard  of  others'  feelings  and  opinions. 
And  when  the  whisper  crept  around  the  shuddering 
circle  that  the  students  in  their  familiar  talk  with  one 
another  not  only  dropped  the  ceremonious  prefix  to 
her  name,  but  actually  dubbed  her  "  Mad  Marcy,"  the 
cup  of  reprobation  was  full,  and  mantled  with  blandest 
pity  for  her  "  poor  parents  and  sisters."  The  strangest 
thing  of  all  was  that  her  defenders  and  retainers  were 
not  confined  to  the  ranks  of  the  frivolous  and  reckless. 
The  distinguished  president  of  the  university  was  apt 
to  be  found  oftener  at  her  side,  listening  with  relaxed 
brow  and  lips  to  her  lively  nonsense,  or  promenading 
with  her  on  his  arm,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  her  ani- 
mated face,  than  in  solemn,  dutiful  attendance  upon 
honored  matrons  and  erudite  spinsters.  And  so 
through  the  whole  corps  of  professors  down  to  the 
young  gentlemen  of  the  law  school,  the  most  studious 
of  whom  sought  relaxation  and  refreshment  in  her  so- 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  207 

ciety.  With  the  college  boys  she  was  queen  para- 
mount, but  that  was  less  singular. 

"  Men  are  such  inconsistent  creatures ! "  sighed  the 
slighted  board  of  condemnation.  "  How  would  they 
relish  such  behavior  as  hers  in  their  sisters,  wives,  or 
daughters  ?  Yet  after  all  you  will  see  that  they  will 
be  chary  of  serious  attentions  to  her.  She  is  well 
enough  for  an  idle  hour.  In  their  quest  for  a  life-long 
partner  she  will  be  passed  by." 

Madeline,  hearing  most  of  this  through  officious  tale- 
bearers, did  not  trouble  herself  to  contradict  the  pre- 
vailing impression.  She  had  more  bona  fide  offers  of 
marriage  than  Laura  and  Dora  put  together,  but  she 
had  kept  the  secrets  of  the  discarded  swains,  and  made 
them  her  friends  forever  by  this  and  her  sisterly  frank- 
ness. They  never  called  her  a  "  rattle-pated  flirt;  "  and, 
when  they  heard  the  title  applied  to  her  by  others, 
chafed  angrily  at  the  reflection  that  the  sex  of  her  de- 
tractors put  the  thought  of  personal  chastisement  out 
of  the  question. 

"  It  makes  my  blood  run  cold  to  see  how  free  that 
girl  is  with  the  young  men,"  said  Miss  Sophie  Slayne 
one  evening  at  a  large  party,  as  Madeline,  escorted  by 
an  unmarried  professor,  stopped  to  speak  to  a  youth 
who,  leaning  disconsolately  against  the  wall,  bent  his 
fair  brows  upon  the  festive  scene  in  a  Manfredish 
frown. 

"  I  have  come  all  the  way  across  the  room  to  remind 
you  that  you  have  to  dance  the  next  set  with  me,  Mr. 
Toler,"  she  said  brightly.  "  It  is  very  ungallant  in  you 
to  force  me  to  spur  up  your  memory." 

The  youth  undid  his  arms  from  their  hard  knot — a  la 


208  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

Booth's  Hamlet — but  knitted  his  forehead  yet  more 
darkly. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Marcy,  but  I  was  not  aware  "- 

"  That  I  cared  enough  for  you  to  take  all  this 
trouble  ?  "  put  in  Madeline.  "  But  you  see  I  do.  So 
you  are  further  indebted  to  me  for  a  pleasant  surprise. 
We  are  keeping  the  set  waiting.  Come  !  Au  revoir,  Mr. 
Rileigh !  It  is  too  bad  that  you're  partnerless,"  nod- 
ding saucily  at  the  handsome  professor  as  she  went  off. 

"  Now,  do  you  know,"  resumed  Miss  Sophie  to  her 
crony,  with  awful  emphasis  and  raising  her  voice  as 
the  music  struck  up,  "  I  no  more  believe  she  had  an 
engagement  to  dance  with  that  young  man  Toler  than 
I  believe  that  I  had?  He  is  rich  and  very  clever,  they 
say,  and  she  is  angling  hard  for  him.  He  has  been  very 
attentive  to  her  for  some  time  past,  and  some  true 
friend  has  warned  him  that  he  was  in  danger  of  com- 
mitting himself,  or  he  has  gone  as  far  with  her  as  he 
cared  to,  ano^  to-night  he  has  avoided  her  in  the  most 
marked  manner,  as  you  must  have  seen.  But  it  isn't  an 
easy  matter  to  shake  her  off,  as  he  will  find  out  to  his 
cost.  You  saw  how  she  threw  herself  at  his  head.  How 
can  a  woman  who  so  far  forgets  her  self-respect  and  the 
dignity  of  her  sex  expect  respectful  treatment  at  the 
hands  of  the  men  with  whom  she  associates?" 

"  She  will  tame  down  in  time.  She  means  no  harm," 
ventured  the  crony,  timidly. 

Miss  Sophie  turned  upon  her  sharply. 

"  Nothing  but  death  will  ever  tame  that  creature  ! 
Disgrace  would  not.  She  has  grazed  it  often  enough 
to  establish  that  point.  Her  friends  may  thank  their 
stars  if  she  doesn't  go  clean  over  the  precipice  some 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  209 

day,  as  many  a  madcap  has  done  before  her.  Such 
coarseness  and  trifling  are  sure  indications  of  a  vulgar, 
depraved  nature." 

"  Oh,  do  be  careful !  "  whispered  the  fellow-gossip, 
in  an  agony.  "  I  tried  to  caution  you  by  speaking  as 
I  did.  Professor  Rileigh  must  have  heard  you.  He 
gave  you  such  a  look  as  he  moved  away." 

"  I  am  glad  he  listened."  But,  in  spite  of  her 
doughty  tone,  Miss  Sophie  looked  scared.  "  It  may 
serve  as  a  warning.  He  has  been  hovering  around  the 
poison-flower  as  giddily  as  any  of  them  lately.  I 
should  have  thought  a  man  of  his  sense  would  not  so 
demean  himself.  He  may  as  well  understand  the  po- 
sition he  has  assumed  in  the  eyes  of  the  community 
by  his  absurd  infatuation — if  he  is  infatuated.  Men 
are  such  hypocrites,  you  never  can  tell  whether  they 
are  in  earnest  or  not." 

"  If  he  is  really  in  love  with  her,  he  will  never  for- 
give us,"  said  the  weaker-minded  tattler.  "  That  is, 
if  he  should  marry  her." 

Miss  Sophie  sneered.  "  Marry  her !  I  can  set  your 
mind  at  rest  on  that  head.  There  is  about  as  much 
likelihood  of  her  becoming  Empress  of  France  as  Mrs. 
Rileigh.  He  may  divert  himself  with  her  for  a  while, 
but  Frederick  Rileigh  knows  too  well  what  is  due  to 
himself  and  his  family  to  run  the  risk  of  bringing  this 
hoyden  into  it.  His  father  was  a  member  of  Congress 
for  years  and  is  very  wealthy  and  aristocratic,  the 
leader  in  every  public  enterprise  in  his  State;  and  his 
wife,  I  have  heard,  is  an  elegant  woman.  One  of  the 
sons  is  an  eminent  clergyman,  one  a  rising  law- 
yer. Frederick  is  the  youngest.  He  marry  Mad 


2io  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

Marcy!  It  would  be  equivalent  to  disinheritance,  my 
dear." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  not  misunderstand  me, 
Rob,"  Madeline  was  saying  to  her  partner,  looking  up 
in  his  face  with  a  cordial  smile  Miss  Sophie  would  not 
have  scrupled  to  call  "  wanton."  "  I  could  not  bear 
to  see  you  so  unhappy.  And  people  were  talking 
about  it.  I  was  afraid  they  would  say  that  we  had 
quarrelled,  especially  as  you  did  not  come  near  me. 
I  wouldn't  for  the  world  have  our  names  joined  in 
such  a  connection  as  that.  For  we  are  better  friends 
than  ever  before.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel  this 
as  I  do.  Balances  !  Miss  Vass  is  waiting." 

In  his  abstraction,  Toler,  although  thus  prompted, 
made  a  blunder  in  the  figure  which  Madeline  instantly 
covered  by  another  so  ridiculous  as  to  excite  the 
amusement  of  the  whole  set. 

"  You  are  too  good,"  said  the  rejected  lover,  grate- 
fully, when  the  fun  had  subsided  and  they  were  again 
side  by  side,  awaiting  their  turn.  "Too  forbearing 
with  my  churlish,  sulky  mood.  I  am  not  worthy  of 
you.  I  would  have  tried  to  make  myself  so.  No,  I 
am  not  beginning  a  fresh  persecution,"  for  Madeline's 
gesture  was  admonitory.  "  I  promised  to  accept  your 
decision  as  final,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  submit.  I  wish," 
with  a  forced  laugh,  "  that  you  would  marry  some 
good  fellow  out  of  hand  and  end  my  misery  by  putting 
yourself  beyond  my  reach.  It  would  be  like  curing 
the  toothache  by  drawing  the  tooth." 

Madeline's  laugh  was  peculiarly  infectious,  and  it 
set  off  a  dozen  others  now,  like  a  merry  chime  of  dif- 
ferently-toned bells,  although  no  one  else  guessed  at 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  211 

the  cause  of  her  mirth.  Even  the  woe-begone  swain 
could  not  resist  the  influence  of  the  musical  peal. 

"  Now  you  begin  to  look  like  yourself  and  to  talk 
sensibly,"  commented  Madeline,  taking  his  arm  for  a 
promenade.  "  I  think  that  would  be  the  surest  and 
quickest  remedy  for  your  fancy.  I  don't  mean  any 
disrespect  to  your  attachment,  but  people  do  get  over 
these  things  sometimes,  and  are  none  the  worse  for  the 
experience.  I  have  been  wanting  to  tell  you  some- 
thing I  have  not  confided  to  another  human  being,  not 
even  to  my  father.  I  can  trust  you  and  I  feel  as  if  it 
was  your  right.  I  wish  I  had  been  perfectly  frank 
with  you  last  night,  but  you  took  me  by  surprise. 
Don't  look  astonished,  for  Miss  Sophie  Slayne's  eye- 
glass is  upon  us.  I  have  been  engaged  to  Professor 
Rileigh  for  a  month.  Miss  Sophie,  you  have  the  fac- 
ulty of  collecting  the  most  agreeable  people  in  your 
neighborhood.  Haven't  you  a  snug  corner  here  for 
two  more  of  the  same  sort  ?  Where  is  the  professor  ? 
I  trusted  him  to  keep  you  safe  until  I  came  back.  He 
is  down  upon  my  tablets  for  the  next  waltz.  If  he 
thinks  I  am  going  to  follow  up  all  my  recreant  knights 
as  I  did  Mr.  Toler  here,  he  is  mistaken." 

"  He  is  quite  able  to  take  care  of  himself,"  retorted 
Miss  Sophie,  meaningly. 

"  Without  your  help  ?  So  it  would  seem,"  Madeline 
remarked,  looking  over  her  tablets.  "  Don't  go,  Mr. 
Toler.  If  he  isn't  up  to  time,  I'll  press  you  into  ser- 
vice." 

"  That's  the  way  she  manages  to  have  a  string  of 
beaux  at  her  heels!"  snorted  Miss  Sophie,  in  a  rage, 
when  the  professor,  looking  cool  and  lofty,  made  his 


212  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

bow  in  season  to  his  partner.  "  Was  there  ever  such 
a  brazen  face  and  tongue?" 

"  Walk  home  with  me,  if  you  are  not  too  tired," 
requested  Mr.  Rileigh,  parting  with  Madeline  at  the 
door  of  the  dressing-room  ;  and  answering  with  a 
bright  glance,  she  equipped  herself  accordingly,  allow- 
ing her  sisters  to  ride  home  without  her. 

"  Excuse  me  if  I  shamble  slightly  in  my  gait,"  she 
laughed,  when  they  were  in  the  street.  "  I  have  on  a 
pair  of  borrowed  overshoes  at  least  two  sizes  too  large 
for  me.  I  hope  I  shall  not  lose  them  altogether  on  our 
way." 

"Were  you  really  engaged  to  dance  with  Robert 
Toler  to-night,  or  was  your  reminder  to  him  an  inven- 
tion of  your  own  to  bring  about  an  interview  with 
him?  "  asked  the  professor  abruptly,  without  noticing 
what  she  had  said. 

She  laughed  again,  joyously  and  innocently  as  a 
child. 

"  Pure  invention,  of  course.  I  thought  you  would 
guess  as  much.  I  wanted  to  comfort  him  a  little,  he 
looked  such  a  knight  of  the  rueful  countenance.  He 
had  the  blues  horribly,  and  you  know  I  am  mother 
confessor  to  half  the  boys  in  the  university." 

"  Toler  is  no  boy,  but  a  man  of  three-and-twenty, 
with  a  man's  desires  and  hopes  and  a  man's  weak- 
nesses," said  the  other,  decidedly.  "  A  man  who  has 
moreover  the  credit  of  being  very  much  in  love  with 
Miss  Madeline  Marcy.  Rumor  says  also  that  his  suit 
is  not  discouraged  by  her.  You  may  find  the  office  of 
comforter  an  awkward  one.  What  ailed  the  sweet 
youth  this  evening  ?  " 


How  '•'•Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  213 

"  I  won't  have  you  make  fun  of  him,  Fred."  Made- 
line was  stung  by  the  coarseness  of  the  irony,  but 
answered  sportively  :  "  He  is  a  good  friend  of  mine, 
who  does  not  whine  over  trifles.  We  all  have  our  ups 
and  downs  in  this  world,  our  shadows  as  well  as  our 
sunshine.  I  hope  I  did  help  him  over  a  rough  place. 
If  so,  I  am  content." 

"  You  must  confine  your  ministrations  of  mercy 
within  a  narrower  circle  in  future,"  pursued  the  lover, 
uncompromisingly.  ''  The  work  costs  you  too  dear. 
I  cannot  have  your  name  bandied  from  lip  to  lip  again 
as  I  have  heard  it  this  evening.  Nor  must  Mr.  Robert 
Toler  or  any  other  sighing  swain  have  it  in  his  power 
to  boast  of  favors  so  freely  bestowed  as  to  cheapen 
their  value.  The  puppy  deserves  a  horsewhipping  for 
his  sentimental  foolery." 

"  Fred,  I  don't  understand  you  !  "  The  great  dark 
eyes  were  full  of  genuine  wonderment  as  they  met 
his  in  the  moonlight.  "  You  can't  be  jealous  of  Rob 
Toler?" 

In  a  calmer  mood  he  would  have  perceived  and 
been  mollified  by  the  implied  compliment.  His  irrita- 
tion laid  hold  of  another  part  of  the  sentence. 

"  I  am  jealous  of  no  one,  only  of  your  good  name, 
Madeline,  which  is  likely  to  suffer  through  your  heed- 
lessness  and  vanity.  It  is  not  strange  that  care  for 
that  should  move  me  to  strong  language." 

4<  It  is  strange,  however,  that,  knowing  me  as  you 
do,  you  should  attach  any  importance  to  a  wallflower's 
gossip,"  Madeline  was  moved  to  reply.  "  I  take  it  for 
granted  that  you  heard  nothing  worse  than  a  spiteful 
fling  from  Miss  Sophie  Slayne  at  '  Mad  Marcy.'  I, 


214  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

who  have  been  used  to  that  sort  of  thing  from  my 
cradle,  am  not  likely  to  take  it  to  heart  as  you  seem 
to  do.  Dear  Fred,  is  it  worth  while  to  make  ourselves 
miserable  because  a  cross  old  maid  cannot  live  without 
scandal?" 

Her  coaxing  tone  might  have  won  him  from  his 
angry  purpose  had  her  reasoning  been  less  pertinent. 
He  would  not  confess  that  he  had  behaved  like  a 
pettish  school-boy ;  had  acted  less  from  rational  con- 
viction than  from  an  impulse  of  wounded  vanity  and 
childish  dread  of  the  world's  opinion,  with  an  active 
spice  at  the  bottom  of  all  of  the  jealousy  she  had  con- 
sidered so  absurd. 

"  It  is  the  height  of  folly  and  imprudence  to  give 
needless  occasion  for  scandal,"  he  said,  attempting  the 
argumentative  in  his  turn,  but  only  succeeding  in  be- 
ing dogmatic.  "  Your  carelessness  in  this  regard  has 
given  your  best  friends  more  trouble  than  you  dream 
of.  No  one  can  afford  to  defy  public  opinion." 

"  Tell  me  what,  you  want  me  to  do,  Fred.  I  do  not 
understand  generalities." 

Her  quiet  tone  emboldened,  not  warned  him. 

"  I  object,  in  the  first  place,  to  your  familiar  bearing 
to  all  young  gentlemen.  It  provokes  invidious  re- 
marks, besides  awakening  in  the  minds  of  the  silly  and 
conceited  presumptuous  and  insulting  expectations.  I 
particularly  dislike  your  intimacy,  or  flirtation,  or 
whatever  it  may  be  termed,  with  Robert  Toler.  The 
fellow  is  in  love  with  you,  as  I  said  just  now,  and  you 
are  fostering  his  passion.  I  have  a  decided  aversion 
to  being  played  off  against  him  or  any  other  man,  and 
vice  versa.  I  have  excused  much  in  your  conduct  that 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  215 

would  have  been  culpable  levity  in  another  woman,  in 
consideration  of  your  high  spirits,  your  youth,  and  the 
early  death  of  your  own  mother.  But  the  defects  of 
which  I  speak  are  grave.  I  would  have  my  betrothed 
wife  above  suspicion." 

Madeline's  worst  enemies  never  denied  to  her  the 
virtue  of  an  exceptionally  sweet  and  generous  temper, 
but  there  was  passion  as  well  as  pain  in  her  exclama- 
tion. 

"  '  Suspicion  ! '  Fred,  you  must  not  use  that  word 
in  speaking  of  my  father's  daughter.  Your  heart  and 
conscience  will  tell  you  by  and  by,  when  you  are  less 
angry,  that  you  have  been  unjust  to  me  in  what  you 
have  said ;  have  distrusted  and  misjudged  me  cruelly 
— you  will  never  know  how  cruelly.  For  love's  sake 
I  could  do  and  dare  everything.  For  the  sake  of  ex- 
pediency— to  quiet  false  and  venomous  tongues,  to 
escape  envious  criticisms — I  will  do  and  risk  nothing. 
I  have  never  flirted  with  Robert  Toler,  and  this  he 
knows,  if  nobody  else  believes  it.  You,  at  least,  should 
credit  it.  A  one-sided  compact  is  worthless.  If  I 
trust  you,  you  must  also  trust  me." 

She  had  struck  at  the  root  of  his  uneasiness.  He 
was  afraid  to  trust  his  reputation,  his  honorable  name 
in  the  keeping  of  this  hare-brained  romp.  Her  beauty, 
her  wild,  witching  grace  of  manner,  and  her  sprightly 
conversation  had  beguiled  him  first  into  love,  then 
into  the  declaration  of  a  passion  his  judgment  told 
him  all  the  while  was  unwise,  out  of  keeping  with  the 
dignity  of  his  character  and  position.  He  was  vexed 
with  himself  that,  knowing  and  acknowledging  this, 
he  was  yet  as  completely  fascinated  by  the  way- 


2l6  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

ward  rattle  as  was  the  "  puppy "  he  affected  to  de- 
spise. 

"  The  question  is,"  he  was  so  insane  as  to  say, 
"whether  I  have  a  reasonable  foundation  for  such 
trust,  whether  your  antecedents  are  not  such  as  would 
rather  discourage  than  invite  it  " — 

She  stopped  him  there. 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before  you  asked 
me  to  marry  you.  But,  since  the  sober  second  thought 
has  come  to  you,  I  thank  you  for  the  open  expression 
of  it.  Remember,  I  told  you  from  the  first  that, 
while  I  would  do  my  best  to  please  you,  I  was  doubt- 
ful of  success.  Look  well  before  you  leap  next  time. 
Here  is  the  ring  you  exchanged  with  me  for  mine." 
She  pulled  it  off  and  gave  it  to  him.  "  If  you  will 
return  mine,  there  will  be  nothing  to  remind  us  of  our 
short-lived  comedy  of  errors." 

Her  light  tone  lashed  him  to  frenzy.  He  threw  the 
ring  she  had  returned  into  the  muddy  street. 

"  I  call  Heaven  to  witness  that  this  is  your  work, 
not  mine  !  "  he  said,  in  a  thick  voice.  "  The  work  of 
a  heartless,  unprincipled  coquette,  who  can  laugh  at 
the  offering  of  an  honest  man's  love,  jest  at  the  wreck 
of  his  happiness  !  This  will  come  home  to  you  with 
terrible  force  one  day,  if  there  is  justice  in  heaven  or 
upon  the  earth.  A  comedy !  And  I  have  been  chief 
jester !  I  was  a  fool  to  put  myself  in  your  power !  " 

"  As  you  like,"  responded  Madeline,  coolly.  "  Here 
we  are  at  home.  It  is  too  late  to  ask  you  to  come  in,  I 
suppose.  Good-night ! " 

He  dropped  the  ring  he  had  worn  silently  into  her 
hand,  without  touching  it,  and  still  without  speak- 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  217 

ing  bowed,  and  walked  away  before  the  door  was 
opened. 

Madeline  went  straight  to  her  father's  study,  where 
the  fire  always  burned  late.  It  was  midnight,  but  he 
was  still  there,  busy  at  his  desk.  He  nodded  consent 
as  her  slight  pause  at  the  door  asked  if  she  might 
enter,  and  did  not  look  around  again  until  a  light 
tinkle  caught  his  ear. 

"Don't  meddle  with  the  fire,  daughter  !  "  he  said, in 
alarm.  "  I  allow  no  one  to  stir  it  excepting  myself." 

"  I  have  not  touched  it,  papa." 

She  was  crouching  upon  the  rug  in  the  full  glare  of 
the  red  grate,  and  something  in  her  attitude — her 
fixed  gaze  into  the  cavern  of  fiery  coals,  or  the  droop 
of  her  head — attracted  his  attention, 

"  Are  you  very  tired,  .Madeline  ?  " 

"  Very"  she  said,  with  emphasis,  yet  trying  to 
laugh,  as  she  arose  to  her  feet.  "  I  was  never  so 
weary  before.  And  it  is  a  bitter  night,  bitter  !  "  She 
kissed  him  "  good-night !  "  and  left  the  room. 

"The  child  looks  pale,"  thought  the  great  juror, 
going  back  to  his  notes.  "A  sudden  chill,  probably. 
I  must  speak  to  Mrs.  Marcy  about  it  in  the  morning." 

He  forgot  it  when  the  morning  brought  the  "  child  " 
down  to  breakfast,  rosy  and  vivacious,  a  marked  con- 
trast in  appearance  and  conduct  to  her  jaded  sisters, 
who  sipped  strong  tea,  and  moaned  of  headache  and 
ennui.  The  little  incident  of  her  visit  to  his  study 
never  occurred  to  him  again.  He  certainly  did  not 
associate  it  with  the  communication  which  Professor 
Rileigh  laid  before  the  board  of  trustees  at  their  next 
meeting.  He  had  received  an  appointment  to  another 


218  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

college,  one  in  his  native  State,  which  he  wished  to 
accept.  He  desired  that  his  resignation  should  take 
effect  so  soon  as  they  could  supply  his  place  to  their 
satisfaction. 

Miss  Sophie  Slayne  "dropped  in"  upon  the  Misses 
Marcy  that  evening.  Laura  was  placidly  crocheting 
in  the  front  parlor,  with  a  moustached  senior  watching 
her  languidly-graceful  motions.  Dora  was  exhibiting 
her  pretty  hands  on  the  piano,  with  an  enamored 
junior  to  turn  over  the  music  which  was  thin,  flashy, 
and  fashionable.  Through  the  folding-doors  Madeline 
was  visible,  deep  in  a  game  of  chess  with  her  father. 

"  I  wonder  you  can  look  so  comfortable  and  inno- 
cent ! "  was  the  beginning  of  Miss  Sophie's  attack.  "  Yes, 
I  am  talking  to  you,  Miss  Maddie,  who  are  playing  the 
dutiful  daughter  so  properly  !  Do  you  know  the  whole 
town  holds  you  responsible  for  the  loss  of  its  fairest  or- 
nament— the  rich  and  handsome  professor  ?  They  say 
you  jilted  him,  flirted  with  him  in  the  most  outrageous 
manner,  fairly  drove  him  out  of  his  senses  and  " — 

"  Out  of  town  !  "  supplied  Madeline,  with  a  wicked 
little  laugh.  "  That  is  a  mistake,  Miss  Sophie. — Check 
to  your  queen,  papa !  This  is  the  second  time  I  have 
cornered  her.  Beware  of  the  third." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  " — continued  Miss  Sophie, 
confronting  her  victim,  maliciously — "can  you  look 
me  in  the  face  and  say  that  you  don't  know  why  our 
Admirable  Crichton  has  '  left  us  all  lamenting?'" 

"  If  you  refer  to  Professor  Rileigh1,  I  believe  it  is 
because  he  is  wanted  elsewhere." 

A  beleaguered  knight  achieved  a  daring  leap  for  his 
life  under  Madeline's  fingers. 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  219 

"  And  because  you  don't  want  him  here,  eh  ?  "  tit- 
tered the  gossip. 

"  I !  Oh,  yes  I  do !  He  is  a  prime  favorite  of  mine- 
I  am  breaking  my  heart  secretly  over  the  prospect  of 
his  departure." 

"  Pity  some  kind  friend  doesn't  hint  as  much  to 
him  ?  It  might  change  his  purpose." 

"No!"  Madeline  shook  her  head  positively.  "It 
would  have  no  effect.  I  told  him  myself  it  would  be 
the  death  of  me,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  see  the  neces- 
sity of  my  living.  I  wish  you  would  entreat  him  not 
to  leave  us,  Miss  Sophie.  I  don't  know  anybody  who 
has  more  influence  with  him." 

The  professor's  aversion  to  the  scandal-monger  and 
his  open  avoidance  of  her  on  all  occasions  were  so 
well-known  that  the  quartette  in  the  front  room 
laughed  in  a  well-bred,  yet  amused  way,  and  the  judge 
looked  up  with  an  air  of  annoyance  at  the  repeated 
interruptions  to  his  game.  Even  the  hardy  veteran 
could  not  mistake  or  disobey  the  meaning  of  this 
movement,  and  retreated  to  a  safe  distance.  Under 
her  eyes,  Madeline  won  the  game  and  was  jubilant 
over  her  victory.  Raked  by  a  battery  of  curious  and 
unfriendly  regards,  she  held  on  her  dizzy  way  during 
the  days  that  preceded  and  followed  the  brief  formal 
farewell  call  made  by  Frederick  Rileigh  upon  the 
family,  her  father  and  stepmother  included,  never 
over-acting  her  part,  yet  never  flagging  in  the  sight  of 
others.  She  had  no  confidante.  To  Robert  Toler 
she  only  said  : — 

' '  The  professor  and  I  have  agreed  to  disagree,  Rob. 
Forget  what  I  told  you,  with  everything  else  foolish 


22O  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was   Tamed. 

in  our  intercourse,  and  you  will  do  me  the  only  favor 
I  ask  in  this  connection." 

Eighteen  months  from  the  night  in  which  she  had 
dropped  the  ring  yet  warm  from  Frederick's  hand, 
into  the  scarlet  cavern  of  coals,  brought  her  sister 
Laura's  wedding-eve.  Rileigh's  successor  had  fallen 
an  easy  prey  to  her  classic  charms  and  found  favor  in 
the  dove-like  eyes.  Madeline — hereafter  to  be  "  Miss 
Marcy  " — was  first  bridesmaid. 

44 1  have  not  '  gone  off,'  as  the  English  girls  say, 
a  bit,"  she  said  to  herself,  when  she  was  dressed  for 
the  ceremony.  And  to  make  sure  of  the  reassuring 
fact,  she  turned  the  gas-burner  so  as  to  throw  a 
stronger  light  upon  her  face.  "  I  do  not  look  more 
than  my  two-and-twenty  years,  I  flatter  myself." 

Straight  and  pliant  as  a  reed  she  stood  in  her  flow- 
ing white  draperies,  her  scarlet  sash  and  the  carnations 
in  her  hair  hardly  brighter  than  her  lips,  the  fine  oval 
of  her  face  untouched  by  time  or  sorrow,  the  quick 
blood  mantling  her  cheeks  as  she  gazed  at  the  comely 
picture  in  the  glass.  She  fully  justified  at  that  instant 
the  enthusiastic  admiration  she  had  inspired  in  the 
breasts  of  Rob  Toler  and  his  confreres — excused  Fred 
Rileigh's  temporary  infatuation. 

"  I  am  glad,  yet  I  should  not  have  expected  it,"  she 
continued,  a  wave  of  softness  flooding  the  tell-tale  eyes. 
"It  has  been  a  long  time.  A  longtime  and  a  fierce  fight." 

She  turned  to  go  to  the  bride's  dressing-room  when 
she  espied  a  package  of  irregular  shape  lying  on  a  table 
near  by.  It  was  her  bouquet-holder  which  she  had 
sent  to  be  mended  a  few  days  before,  the  chain  having 
been  broken. 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  221 

"  Done  up  in  a  piece  of  newspaper,  as  I  live ! "  she 
ejaculated,  in  disgust.  "  I  must  give  M.  Bluet  a  les- 
son in  the  niceties  of  white  or  tissue  wrapping-paper 
and  pink  twine." 

Undoing  the  parcel  with  dainty  fingers,  a  name 
caught  her  eye,  and  she  unfolded  the  fragment  with 
eager  care,  smoothing  it  out  upon  the  marble  top  of  the 
stand  with  fingers  almost  as  cold.  "  Fatal  Accident!" 
was  the  heading  of  the  article  in  which  she  read  the 
regrets  of  the  editor  and  the  community  at  large  over 
the  misfortune  that  had  plunged  a  highly  respectable 
family  into  the  depths  of  affliction,  and  quenched  pre- 
maturely the  light  of  a  useful  and  honored  life.  "  A 
carriage  containing  the  Honorable  Edgar  Rileigh  and 
his  son,  the  brilliant  young  professor,  Frederick 
Rileigh,  Esq.,  of  -  -  College,  had  been  upset  by 
a  pair  of  unmanageable  horses,  and  hurled  down  an 
embankment.  The  elder  gentleman  had  escaped  with 
a  few  bruises.  Professor  Rileigh  had  been  extricated 
from  the  ruins  of  the  vehicle  in  a  dying  condition  and 
horribly  mutilated.  As  we  go  to  press,"  continued  the 
reporter,  "  the  heart-rending  news  is  brought  us  that  he 
has  just  breathed  his  last.  We  deeply  sympathize  " — 

Madeline  read  no  further  then.  She  folded  the 
paper  when  she  had  looked  at  the  date,  seen  that  it 
was  a  month  old,  and  that  the  journal  of  which  this 
was  a  part  was  published  in  her  former  suitor's  birth- 
place. She  laid  it  away  in  a  drawer  and  locked  it  up 
from  other  eyes.  Then  she  put  her  hands  to  her 
temples  to  still  the  beating  that  was  taking  her  senses 
from  her,  and  tried  to  think. 

"  Why  has  this  been  kept  from  me  ?    It  could  not 


222  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

have  been  accidental.  Everybody  hereabouts  must 
have  heard  of  this — he  was  so  well-known — and  this 
item  must  have  been  copied  into  our  papers,  although 
it  escaped  my  eye.  Have  people  known  my  secret  all 
the  while  I  believed  I  was  hiding  it  ?  A  month  ago  ! 
And  all  this  while  I  have  never  dreamed —  If  he  had 
loved  me  as  I  did  him,  his  spirit  would  have  come  to 
me — would  have  spoken  to  mine.  For  now  he  knows 
all!  Fred!  Fred!" 

She  stretched  her  arms  to  empty  air  in  the  stifled 
cry.  For  one  moment  her  brave  soul  bowed  and 
shook  in  the  tempest  of  memory  and  despair.  The 
next,  she  had  turned  her  back  upon  the  past,  said  to 
sorrow,  "  Not  now.  I  have  a  life-time  in  which  to 
mourn  ;  " — to  pride,  "  To-night  I  need  you  more  than 
ever,  'my  best  of  helpers." 

Dora,  who  was  the  other  bridesmaid,  shed  a  sun- 
shower  of  becoming  tears  during  the  ceremony.  Mrs. 
Marcy's  stern  eyes  were  wet  at  the  anticipated  part- 
ing with  her  favorite;  even  the  judge  was  visibly 
moved,  while  aunts,  cousins,  and  the  great  host  of 
bosom  friends  who  had  rallied  about  Laura  at  this, 
the  supreme  moment  of  her  life,  wept  more  or  less 
copiously.  Madeline's  head  did  not  bow  except 
slightly  during  the  prayer  ;  her  eyes  glittered,  and 
her  teeth  gleamed  in  a  play  of  radiant  smiles  she 
seemed  to  strive  but  ineffectually  to  restrain  within 
the  bounds  of  conventional  decorum. 

"  You  actually  laughed  at  the  very  moment  in  which 
they  were  pronounced  man  and  wife,"  said  a  senti- 
mental miss,  reproachfully,  afterward.  "  I  could 
hardly  believe  my  own  eyes." 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  223 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  Madeline  declared.  "  Miss 
Sophie  Slayne  was  weeping  into  her  laced  handkerchief 
by  mistake,  and  just  then  recollecting  herself,  snatched 
it  away  from  her  eyes  and  pulled  from  her  pocket  a 
plain  one  that  she  had  brought  along  for  use." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  complimentary  to  me — 
at  least,  would  have  looked  better,  had  you  not 
seemed  so  happy  at  getting  rid  of  me,  Maddie,"  re- 
gretted Mrs.  Laura  Foster,  as  her  sister  helped  her  on 
with  her  travelling  dress. 

"  And  how  ridiculous  it  was  in  her  to  insist  upon 
everybody  calling  her  '  Miss  Marcy  !  '  "  interjected 
Dora.  "  Absolutely  childish  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  pleased  at  marrying  Charley 
Foster,  Laura,"  said  Madeline.  "  I  love  you  quite  as 
well  as  if  I  had  whimpered." 

"  I  know  it,  dear,"  conceded  the  newly-fledged  ma- 
tron, with  amiable  condescension.  "  And  your  spirits 
have  never  been  tamed  by  love  or  sorrow." 

One  wet,  windy  evening,  six  months  after  Laura's 
marriage,  Judge  Marcy  read  his  newspaper  beside  the 
study  fire,  the  lamp-light  falling  softly  upon  his  strong 
features  and  the  massive  head  covered  with  silver 
hair.  He  was  not  a  man  whose  mien  invited  famil- 
iarity, yet  while  he  read,  a  slight  figure  glided  unheard 
in  at  the  door  behind  him,  cast  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  a  face  all  tears  and  smiles  like  a  meteor  seen  through 
a  mist,  came  between  him  and  the  Evening  Gazette. 

"Papa,  papa,  he  is  alive  and  he  loves  me!  Help 
me  to  bear  it  !"  cried  Madeline,  hysterically,  clinging 
to  his  breast  as  she  would  have  done  to  her  own  mo- 
ther's. u  He  wants  me,  too  !  Read  ! " 


224  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

She  put  a  letter  into  his  hands,  and  sinking  to  her 
knees  at  his  feet,  leaned  upon  him,  watching  his 
countenance  as  he  perused  the  sheet  she  had  given  him. 
Mystification,  intense  and  unmingled,  was  the  reign- 
ing expression  until  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  first 
page ;  then  the  rugged  lineaments  softened  into  pity 
and  sympathy.  Surprise  and  perplexity  followed,  and 
the  last  leaf  concluded,  he  put  his  hand  gently  upon 
the  head  resting  against  his  knee. 

"  My  dear  child !  I  am  very  sorry  for  all  this.  I 
heard  of  the  accident  when  it  occurred,  but  had  no 
idea  it  was  so  serious  " — 

"  Papa,  I  read  that  he  was  killed !  And  I  have 
believed  it  all  along,  and  I  loved  him  better  than  I 
did  my  own  life ! "  A  great  sob  finished  the  sen- 
tence. 

"  Poor  girl !     Did  you  speak  to  no  one  of  it  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  How  could  I  ?  I  thought 
my  right  to  mourn  him  had  been  taken  from  me." 

The  judge  mused  more  and  more  gravely,  his  hand 
fast  in  hers. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  gently  at  last,  "  I  honor 
you  for  your  fidelity.  I  grieve  with  you  at  the  thought 
of  what  you  have  both  suffered.  But  do  you  under- 
stand all  that  Rileigh  says  in  this  letter  ?  That  he  is  a 
helpless  cripple.  '  A  useless,  distorted  hulk,'  he  calls 
himself.  He  has  been  chained  to  his  bed  for  six  months 
and  is  just  able  to  creep  out  into  the  open  air  upon 
crutches.  His  very  handwriting  is  evidence  of  his 
feebleness.  I  should  not  know  it  for  his." 

Madeline  had  the  letter  and  was  passing  her  fingers 
lightly  and  lovingly  over  it. 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  225 

"  Who  can  wonder  at  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  His  right  arm 
was  shattered." 

The  judge  caught  at  the  word.  "  And  a  man  needs 
a  whole  strong  right  arm  for  the  support  and  defense 
of  a  wife.  Dear,"  his  voice  trembling  slightly,  despite 
his  iron  will,  "  a  father  may  surely  hesitate  to  consign 
his  best  beloved  child  to  such  a  fate.  In  asking  you 
to  be  his  wife,  he  would  bind  you  to  years  of  weari- 
some drudgery,  of  care  and  toil  and  wearying  demands 
upon  strength  and  patience.  You  are  not  fitted  for 
the  position  of  nurse  to  this  or  any  other  man." 

"  Papa,  don't  oppose  me  in  this.  I  shall  marry  him 
in  any  event,  for  I  am  of  age,  but  don't  send  me  from 
your  house  without  your  blessing.  J\Iy  arm  is  strong, 
and  my  spirit  not  only  willing  but  yearning  to  enter 
upon  the  blessed  service  you  call  wearisome.  He  does 
not  say  '  Marry  me,'  you  see  ;  only  that  he  loves  me ; 
that  he  has  loved  me  through  all,  and  that  he  longs 
for  me  every  hour.  If  he  cannot  come  to  me  I  shall 
go  to  him— be  to  him  feet,  hands,  head,  everything. 
God  is  very  good  to  have  kept  him  alive  for  me.  I 
am  so  thankful  for  this,  and  that  he  needs  me.  I  can- 
not be  as  sorry  as  I  should  be  for  what  has  happened. 
I  shall  write  to  him  this  very  night,  papa,  and  I  want 
you  to  do  the  same.  This  is  no  time  for  foolish  hesi- 
tation or  girlish  reserve,  for  " — with  a  prideful  tender- 
ness very  pathetic  to  the  listener,  in  the  reiteration — 
"  he  needs  me,  you  see,  papa !  " 

10* 


PART   II. 

"  SHE  was  fairly  warned.  I  wrote  to  her  so  soon  as 
Frederick  informed  me  of  the  renewal  of  his  engage- 
ment with  her,  telling  her  plainly  what  her  future  lot 
was  to  be  should  she  persist  in  her  intention  of  mar- 
rying him.  I  described  without  reserve  his  state, 
physical  and  mental,  dwelling  emphatically  upon  the 
effect  his  incurable  lameness  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
past  half  year  had  had  upon  his  spirits  and  temper.  No 
woman  in  her  right  senses  could,  after  reading  that 
letter,  become  his  wife  with  the  remotest  expectation 
of  happiness.  When  she  stood  by  him  at  the  altar 
she  knew  that  she  was  tying  herself  for  life  to  a  cross- 
grained  clog." 

Thus  spoke  the  Rev.  Arthur  Rileigh,  walking  up 
and  down  his  father's  spacious  parlor,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  his  bosom  swelling  under  his 
strait-breasted  vest,  in  the  proud  consciousness  that 
he  had  risked  his  brother's  anger  and  the  disfavor  of 
his  sister-in-law  in  the  conscientious  discharge  of  an 
unpleasant  duty.  The  family  sat  in  full  conclave  and 
festive  array,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  newly-wedded 
pair.  Mrs.  Rileigh,  Sr.,  a  comely  dame  in  black  moire 
and  lace  cap,  spoke  next. 

"  I  do  hope  she  will  take  good  care  of  my  poor 
Fred.  But  what  Frank  writes  of  her  has  led  me  to 
226 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  227 

doubt  whether  his  brother  has  made  a  judicious  selec- 
tion of  a  nurse.  I  am  afraid  she  is  very  giddy." 

"  She  is  likely  to  be  sobered  speedily,"  laughed 
Miss  Felicia,  the  only  daughter  and  youngest  child  of 
the  household.  "  I  am  sorry  for  her,  yet  relieved  that 
the  burden  of  Fred's  illnesses  and  humors  is  to  fall 
upon  somebody  besides  mamma  and  myself.  It  is 
queer  though  that  any  young  girl  should  have  had 
the  courage  to  undertake  the  task.  I  should  say  pos- 
itively that  she  must  have  been  absolutely  agonizing 
to  enter  the  estate  of  matrimony,  and  that  offers  were 
distressingly  scarce,  but  for  Frank's  report  of  her 
beauty  and  popularity.  The  whole  thing  is  an 
enigma." 

"  There  are  two  sides  to  the  story  of  her  belleship," 
said  Mrs.  Arthur  Rileigh,  with  an  air  of  extreme  dis- 
cretion. "  I  have  an  acquaintance — Miss  Slayne — who 
is  a  resident  of  the  same  town  with  these  Marcys. 
When  the  news  of  this  extraordinary  betrothal  was 
imparted  to  me  I  wrote  to  her  guardedly  and  confi- 
dentially for  information  respecting  Miss  Marcy.  I 
destroyed  her  answer  which  was  also  confidential,  im- 
mediately after  reading  it,  without  even  showing  it  to 
Arthur.  If  the  result  of  my  inquiries  had  been  satis- 
factory, I  need  hardly  say  that  I  should  have  been 
delighted  to  make  it  known  to  you  all.  I  can  only 
observe  that  mother  has  judged  correctly  in  surmising 
that  the  young  woman  has  been  very  g'ddy,  and  that 
she  has  also  manifested  her  accustomed  charity  of 
thought  and  speech  in  applying  no  harsher  term  to 
her  career.  I  fancy  Miss  Marcy  was  not  sorry  to  leave 
the  scene  of  her  many  escapades,  even  at  the  cost  of 


228  How  "Mad  Mar cy"  was  Tamed. 

becoming  the  wife  of  a  hopeless  cripple.  Indeed,  his 
helplessness  may  have  its  advantages.  Unless  I  have 
been  grossly  misinformed,  she  would  not  be  tolerant 
of  control  or  espionage." 

"  She  shall  play  none  of  her  scandalous  pranks 
here,"  returned  Rileigh  ptre,  his  gray  forelock  brist- 
ling at  the  thought.  "  I'll  see  to  that !  As  Arthur 
has  said,  she  knew  what  she  was  undertaking  when 
she  married  Fred,  and  if  he  cannot  hold  her  to  her 
duty  and  home,  I  will." 

"  You  needn't  alarm  yourself,  papa.  Fred  can  fight 
his  own  battles,"  Miss  Felicia  said  as  flippantly  as  be- 
fore. "  I  would  rather  be  caged  with  forty  porcupines 
than  marry  one  man  like  him.  He  has  worried  all  the 
flesh  off  my  bones  and  the  nap  off  my  temper  already. 
Of  course  the  girl  must  have  had  some  hidden  motive 
for  marrying  him,  and  may  deserve  and  need  sharp 
discipline  for  this  and  other  follies  ;  and  I  don't  feel 
amiably  disposed  toward  her  for  forcing  herself  into 
our  family,  but  I  do  pity  her,  as  I  remarked,  sincerely." 

"  I  pity  Fred  more.  I  learn  that  her  sobriquet  in 
her  native  place  is  '  Mad  Marcy,'  and  that  it  was  well 
bestowed,"  observed  Mrs.  Arthur,  discreetly  and  de- 
murely as  before. 

She  had  a  very  round,  white  face,  brown  hair,  pale 
blue  eyes,  and  small  features ;  was  plump  and  short, 
and  reminded  Madeline  the  first  time  she  saw  her, 
and  always  afterward,  of  a  chestnut-worm.  She  had 
brought  the  Rev.  A/thur  a  handsome  dowry ;  she  was 
rather  active  than  'popular  in  his  parish,  but  main- 
tained a  high  reputation  for  propriety  and  prudence, 
and  was  a  chief  favorite  with  her  mother-in-law. 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  229 

"  Since  the  poor  afflicted  boy  was  bent  upon  marry- 
ing, I  wish  he  had  chosen  as  wisely  for  himself  and 
for  us  all  as  you  did,  my  son,"  sighed  the  matron,  ad- 
dressing her  eldest-born.  "  But  I  suppose  that  could 
hardly  have  been  expected." 

"  Maybe  Fred's  wife  really  loves  him.  You  know 
they  were  engaged  before — two  years  ago.  Frank  says 
she  is  very  charming  and  her  devotion  to  his  brother 
beautiful." 

The  suggestion,  modestly  and  timidly  uttered,  came 
from  a  young  girl  who  sat  in  the  shadow  of  Mrs. 
Rileigh's  chair.  She  had  a  sweet  but  not  pretty  face, 
and  blushed  painfully  at  the  laugh  with  which  Felicia 
wheeled  upon  her. 

"You  dear  little  simpleton  !  If  she  loved  him,  why 
did  she  break  the  engagement?  If  I  were  in  your 
place,  I  should  not  relish  Frank's  extravagant  lauda- 
tion of  his  new  relative-in-law.  What  if  she  should 
reciprocate  his  admiration  by  preferring  the  sound, 
handsome  brother  to  the  injured  one?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  responded  the  other,  but  her 
smile  was  hardly  sincere. 

Discreet  Mrs.  Arthur  had  her  say  again.  "  From 
what  I  can  gather  it  was  Fred,  and  not  the  lady,  who 
retreated  from  the  former  engagement,  and  he  was 
justified  in  his  action  by  the  unscrupulous  flirtations 
of  his  betrothed.  I  trust,  however,  Alice,  for  your 
sake  at  least,  that  she  will  give  up  the  habit,  now  she 
is  fairly  married." 

The  sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  at  the  door  ended 
the  discussion.  The  gentlemen  hastened  out,  the 
ladies  following  them  as  far  as  the  hall. 


230  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

The  bridegroom  came  up  the  steps,  supported  by  a 
brother  on  each  side,  and  close  behind  them  was  his 
wife,  carrying  his  crutches.  They  were  light  and  ele- 
gantly wrought,  with  crimson  cushions  at  the  top. 
The  wraps  and  air-pillow,  without  which  Frederick 
could  not  have  travelled  with  any  degree  of  comfort, 
were  in  the  hands  of  a  servant,  and  Madeline  had 
picked  up  her  slight  burden  mechanically,  and  with- 
out a  thought  of  the  possible  consequences  of  her  ap- 
pearing before  her  new  relatives  thus  encumbered. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  all  eyes  were  bent  upon  her 
when  hasty  salutations  had  been  exchanged  between 
Fred  and  his  friends.  She  stood  in  the  full  glare  of 
the  hall  light,  her  lithesome  figure  displayed  to  striking 
advantage  by  her  closely-fitting  travelling  dress,  the 
dark  fur  with  which  it  was  trimmed  heightening  the 
effect  of  her  rich  brunette  complexion  ;  her  eyes  spark- 
ling, lips  apart  and  quivering  with  excitement  and 
pleasurable  anticipation.  The  incongruity  of  the 
badge  of  deformity  with  this  impersonation  of  health, 
vigor,  and  symmetry  could  not  fail  to  impress  the 
most  obtuse  of  the  spectators.  Felicia  was  foremost 
in  the  expression  of  this. 

"You  have  invested  her  with  the  insignia  of  office, 
I  see,  Fred,"  she  said,  as  she  kissed  Madeline. 

"Arthur,  Frank,  one  of  you  should  have  relieved 
her  of  these  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Rileigh,  offering  to  take 
them  and  evidently  annoyed.  "  I  am  ashamed  and 
shocked  that  we  should  have  allowed  this,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Frederick." 

"  You  need  not  be,  sir,"  Madeline  said,  with  frank 
cheerfulness.  "They  have  been  my  especial  charge 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  231 

all  through  the  journey.  Anything  but  an  unpleasant 
one,  too,  I  assure  you." 

She  would  have  fitted  one  under  her  husband's 
arm,  but  he  caught  it  from  her,  adjusted  it  to  its 
place,  steadied  himself  upon  it  and  held  out  a  hand  for 
the  other,  his  face  pale  with  anger  and  mortification. 

"  Let  me  pass,  if  you  please,"  he  uttered,  making  a 
movement  toward  the  parlor. 

Madeline  fell  back  out  of  his  way  to  the  side  of 
Frank's  betrothed. 

"  We  ought  to  be  friends,"  she  said,  softly,  taking 
the  hand  of  the  blushing  girl.  "  I  have  known  you  as 
long  as  I  have  Frank,  and  we  are  already  cronies — 
sworn  allies." 

The  latter  clause  caught  Fred's  ear  as  he  let  him- 
self down  groaningly,  with  his  brother's  help,  to  the 
sofa  heaped  with  pillows. 

"  Allies  ! "  he  echoed,  with  a  harsh  laugh.  "  That 
implies  the  existence  of  an  opposing  or  obnoxious 
power.  Am  I  to  understand  "- 

"  That  you  are  at  home  again  ;  that  your  friends 
are  overjoyed  to  see  you,  and  that,  by  and  by,  when 
you  are  rested,  and  appreciate  what  you  have  accom- 
plished by  the  journey  that  has  fatigued  you,  you  will 
be  the  happiest  man  alive,"  interposed  Madeline,  sau- 
cily, arranging  his  cushions  and  putting  away  the  hair 
from  his  forehead. 

"  Don't  be  absurd !  "  he  muttered,  ungraciously, 
and  Mrs.  Arthur  lifted  one  fat  shoulder,  with  one 
arched  eyebrow,  in  dumb,  horrified  show  to  her 
mother-in-law.  The  gesture  said  :  "  When  I  was  a 
bride,  I  would  have  been  drawn  by  wild  horses  sooner 


232  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

than  use  such  language  to  my  lord  in  the  hearing  of 
others.  But  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Felicia  carried  Madeline  off  to  change  her 
dress. 

"  You  don't  mind  Fred's  bearish  moods,  I  see,"  she 
remarked  on  the  stairway.  "  It  is  well  you  are  so 
philosophical,  for  this  is  his  normal  state.  He  had 
always  a  villainous  temper,  but  he  used  to  make  some 
show  of  controlling  it.  Now  it  is  awful !  I  am  glad 
you  are  not  sensitive.  If  you  were,  he  would  kill  you 
by  inches." 

"  I  think  not.  I  have  wonderful  vitality,"  was  Made- 
line's rejoinder  in  her  gayest  tone.  More  gently  she 
added :  "  Seriously,  I  trust  I  shall  never  forget  that 
it  is  pain,  not  temper,  that  speaks  when  he  seems  im- 
patient." 

"  That  is  a  comfortable  view  to  take  of  the  matter, 
certainly.  I  hope  you  will  hold  fast  to  your  resolu- 
tion. For  human  nature  cannot  bear  friction  forever. 
Life  or  patience  must  give  way.  These  are  your  rooms. 
They  are  the  pleasantest  in  the  house.  Fred  would 
not  be  satisfied  if  he  had  not  the  best  of  everything, 
and  since  he  was  hurt  all  the  rest  of  us  have  had  to 
give  way  before  his  whims.  He  is  a  perfect  Turk,  as 
I  suppose  you  have  found  out  by  this  time.  Dinner 
will  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  Can  you  find  your  way 
back  to  the  parlor  alone,  or  shall  I  send  Arthur  or  Frank 
for  you — your  real  master  being  out  of  the  question  ? 
How  odd  to  be  obliged  to  supplement  a  bridegroom 
in  that  way ! " 

"  I  will  come  down  alone,  if  you  please,"  said  Made- 
line, still  pleasantly.  "  And  you  must  not  make  a 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  233 

j- 

stranger  of  me.     I  wish  to  take  my  place  as  a  daughter 
of  the  house  without  delay." 

She  dressed  rapidly  but  with  care.  Her  quick  eye 
had  noted  the  elegant  apparel  of  the  ladies  below 
stairs  and  she  selected  from  her  trousseau  a  light  silk, 
with  lace  trimmings  and  a  sweeping  train  that  lent 
queenliness  to  her  stature,  decorated  neck  and  arms 
with  a  set  of  handsome  jewelry — Fred's  bridal  gift — 
and  without  trusting  herself  to  think  for  one  moment 
when  a  final  look  at  the  mirror  had  told  her  all  was 
right,  ran  down  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Actually  bounded  down  the  steps  like  any  school- 
girl," commented  Mrs.  Arthur  to  her  husband  that 
night. 

Her  father-in-law  met  her  at  the  door,  offered  his 
arm  with  much  ceremony  and  led  her  to  a  seat  beside 
Fred's  sofa.  Her  husband  answered  her  smile  by  a 
half  frown  and  an  impatient  movement  of  his  head. 

"You  will  excuse  my  travelling  dress,  mother,"  he 
said  shortly.  "  It  does  not  signify  how  /  look.  But 
you  needn't  have  taken  so  much  pains  to  make  the 
contrast  more  marked,  Madeline." 

And  she,  smitten  with  sudden  loathing  of  her  brave 
attire  and  longing  for  sackcloth,  ashes,  and  a  safe  cor- 
ner in  which  she  could  cry  out  her  homesickness,  her 
disappointment  and  her  dreads,  yet  replied,  playfully 
— the  Rileighs  thought  pertly :  "  You  are  fishing  for  a 
compliment  now,  Fred.  As  if  Miss  Slayne  did  not 
call  our  marriage  'the  union  of  mind  and  matter! '  You 
should  have  heard  the  girls  of  our  town  rave  about  his 
'  etherialized  face '  and  '  spirituelle  eyes,' "  she  con- 
tinued to  Felicia. 


234  How  "  Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

"You  are  acquainted  with  Miss  Slayne,  then?" 
queried  Mrs.  Arthur,  with  what  was  to  Madeline  un- 
meaning emphasis. 

"  I  have  known  her  ever  since  I  can  remember,"  she 
replied,  unsuspectingly,  and  thereby  sealed  in  her 
hearer's  minds  the  truth  of  that  lady's  testimony 
touching  herself. 

Frank  ended  the  awkward  pause  that  followed  by  a 
rattling  description  of  the  pretty  girls  he  had  met  at 
the  wedding,  and  Madeline  had  time  to  steady  her 
pulses  and  gather  her  scattering  wits — to  remind  her- 
self anew  what  a  pitiable  wreck  in  nerve  and  muscle 
was  the  man  she  had  married  ;  to  rally  about  his 
image  the  great  wealth  of  love  and  compassion  that 
surged  up  in  her  heart  when  she  remembered  the 
handsome  athlete  who  had  wooed  her  two  short  years 
ago,  and  looked  upon  the  pallid  face  and  distorted 
body  before  her  now.  She  had  never  been  sick  her- 
self, but  this  very  ignorance  of  physical  infirmity  in- 
vested the  sufferer  with  sacredness ;  awed  her  into 
reverential  pity  in  the  presence  of  the  mysterious 
anguish.  She  put  away  from  her  the  recollection  of 
the  fact  reverted  to  freely  by  Fred's  own  family, 
namely,  that  his  disposition  was  naturally  jealous  and 
his  temper  irascible.  She  never  owned  even  to  her- 
self that  upon  which  her  father  had  dwelt  strongly  in 
his  dissuasive  talk  with  her  the  evening  she  received 
her  lover's  first  letter,  and  which  she  learned  after  her 
marriage  he  had  also  expressed,  but  more  delicately, 
to  her  betrothed. 

"  It  is  gross,  inexcusable  selfishness  in  him  to  seek 
to  tie  you  to  the  battered  hulk  he  describes  here,"  the 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  235 

judge  declared  after  re-reading  Fred's  account  of  his 
present  condition.  "  The  man  has  lost  his  senses,  or 
is  devoid  of  common  humanity.  It  is  monstrous !  " 

Madeline  put  her  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"  You  are  angry,  papa,  and  do  not  know  what  you  are 
saying,  or  I  would  not  bear  that,  even  from  you.  It 
is  the  '  honest  hour '  with  him.  I  used  to  be  sure  it 
would  come  to  him  some  time.  The  hour  in  which 
he  understands  how  truly  I  love  him  and  that  he  can- 
not live  without  me.  Do  you  know  what  I  shall  write 
to  him  before  I  sleep  ?  That  if  there  is  enough  of  his 
body  left  to  hold  his  soul,  I  will  marry  him  ;  that  if  he 
cannot  come  to  me,  I  will  go  to  him  without  scruple 
and  without  fear." 

She  had  not  known  until  the  day  after  the  wedding 
that  they  were  to  live  in  his  father's  house.  Fred  had 
property  of  his  own — enough,  he  represented  to  Judge 
Marcy,  to  maintain  his  wife  in  modest  comfort,  and 
Madeline's  portion  of  her  mother's  dowry  was  settled 
upon  herself.  She  had  hoped  for  a  neat,  tasteful  cot- 
tage, in  the  dear  seclusion  of  which  she  could  devote 
herself  to  the  holy  work  of  making  life  as  beautiful  to 
her  invalid  husband  as  the  assurance  of  his  love  had 
made  it  to  her.  Fred  shrank  visibly  from  the  thought. 
His  father's  residence  was  spacious,  his  rooms  in  it 
luxurious  and  already  arranged  to  suit  his  peculiar 
needs.  The  cares  of  housekeeping  would  consume 
much  of  Madeline's  time,  engross  her  attention  often 
when  he  most  needed  her.  Her  father  had  broadly 
insinuated  that  he  was  moved  by  self-interest  in  re- 
newing his  suit,  yet  if  he  knew  his  own  heart  he 
consulted  her  happiness  in  every  plan.  He  did  desire 


236  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

to  have  as  much  of  her  society  as  possible — he  for 
whom  life  had  so  little  else  of  brightness — but  he  did 
not  want  to  cage  his  mocking-bird.  He  would  have 
her  free,  unbound,  save  by  the  silken  leash  that  would 
after  every  flight  bring  her  back  to  his  arms.  His 
mother  and  sister  would  relieve  her  of  the  care  of  him 
for  several  hours  each  day  or  evening,  and  Frank  be 
only  too  happy  to  escort  her  to  concert,  opera,  or 
party.  She  must  not  cease  shining  because  she  was 
his  wife. 

"You  shall  make  conquests  by  the  score,  and  come 
home  to  talk  over  your  victories  with  me,  ma  belle. 
People  shall  not  say  you  are  buried  alive.  And 
through  you  I  shall  keep  up  with  the  age,  don't  you 
see  ?  It  will  be  far  better  for  me  to  make  loop-holes 
of  your  bright  eyes  than  to  lie  moping  like  Diogenes 
in  his  tub, '  the  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot.'  " 

This  was  the  song  of  the  honeymoon,  and  while  he 
chanted  it  he  felt  and  believed  what  he  said.  But 
nature  and  habit  together  are  well-nigh  invincible. 
He  had  the  grace  to  apologize  to  his  wife  for  his  ill- 
humor  on  the  evening  of  their  arrival,  pleading  ex- 
treme fatigue  and  great  bodily  pain  as  his  excuse. 
Perhaps  Madeline's  forgiveness  was  too  cordial  and 
ready,  for  he  grew  daily  more  lax  in  his  guard  over 
himself,  more  exacting  in  his  demands  upon  her  time, 
patience,  and  strength.  Until  his  accident,  there  had 
been  no  gayer  house  in  the  city  than  the  Rileighs ; 
and  now  that  he  was,  to  quote  his  sister's  words, 
"  quite  off  their  hands,"  she  was  resolved  to  make 
good  lost  time  and  opportunities.  Madeline  received 
her  bridal  calls  in  person — "  when  Fred  could  spare 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  237 

her."  He  persistently  refused  to  appear  below  stairs 
upon  such  occasions. 

"  Would  it  not  be  wiser  to  delegate  the  whole  duty 
to  mother  and  Felicia?"  said  Mrs.  Arthur  to  the 
"giddy  "  bride.  "  It  looks  so  odd  to  see  you  alone  in 
such  a  position,  and — excuse  me,  my  dear  sister — 
hardly  proper,  as  society  is  now  constituted.  The  world 
demands  such  circumspection  in  a  married  woman.  I 
actually — excuse  me,  but  I  am  nothing  if  not  frank — 
I  actually  overheard  two  wild  young  men  the  other 
evening  pronounce  you  a  '  bewitching  grass  widow.'  " 

Instead  of  being  stunned  and  shamed,  Madeline 
laughed  outright. 

"Am  I  so  verdant,  then?  I  must  treasure  that  up 
for  Fred.  How  he  will  enjoy  it !  " 

She  took  good  care,  however,  not  to  tell  him  of  the 
equivocal  compliment.  She  was  learning  to  shun  such 
reefs  as  she  had  already  struck,  and  to  watch  narrowly 
for  others.  In  reality  the  reception  evenings,  in  which 
Felicia  delighted,  were  to  her  a  foretaste  of  purgatory. 
Fred  insisted  upon  her  bedecking  herself  in  her  best 
robes ;  was  critical  of  the  cut  of  a  dress,  the  shade  of 
a  ribbon,  the  placing  of  a  flower.  When  she  was  ready 
to  go  down  stairs,  he  would  admire  her  in  the  same 
breath  that  bewailed  his  own  helplessness  and  evil 
fate.  Sometimes  he  wept  outright,  and  when  she 
offered  consolation,  bade  her  "  go  and  be  happy.  That 
is.  forget  my  existence  for  a  little  while.  I  ought  to 
have  died  before  I  asked  you  to  marry  such  an  ugly, 
blasted  log." 

True  to  her  promise  of  keeping  him  apprised  of 
what  was  going  on  in  the  gay  world  he  shunned,  Made- 


238  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was   Tamed. 

line,  so  soon  as  she  could  escape  from  the  parlors,  would 
fly  to  his  room  with  a  merry  story  of  the  sayings  and 
doings  of  the  company,  and  such  bits  of  gossip  as  she 
had  gleaned  for  his  amusement.  He  was  greedy  of 
news,  yet  prone  to  lament,  when  all  was  told,  that  he 
had  pined  in  pain  and  ennui  while  she  was  enjoying 
herself  below.  A  faithful  servant  generally  sat  in  the 
ante-room  in  Madeline's  absence  from  his  chamber ; 
now  and  then  Mrs.  Rileigh  would  bring  her  crochet 
needle  and  worsted  basket  to  her  son's  side,  and  doze 
and  prose  away  the  evening.  Felicia  never  offered 
her  services,  asking  coarsely,  when  Frank  suggested 
the  propriety  of  her  doing  so :  "  What  else  Fred's  wife 
was  there  for?"  But  Mrs.  Arthur  insisted  frequently 
upon  "  performing  her  share  of  the  sacred  duty."  Made- 
line soon  noticed  that  after  each  of  these  exhibitions  of 
sisterly  attachment,  Fred  was  more  irritable  and  un- 
reasonable with  her  than  when  another  had  been  his 
custodian. 

"  I  hate  that  woman,  with  her  face  like  an  overboiled 
dumpling,  her  honey- and -butter  voice,  and  prying 
ways  ! "  he  had  once  said  to  his  wife,  and  for  awhile 
she  had  ascribed  his  dissatisfaction  with  herself  to  his 
annoyance  at  being  compelled  to  submit  to  disagree- 
able companionship.  She  discovered  her  mistake 
through  a  sharp  reprimand  administered  one  night 
when  she  would  have  condoled  with  him  upon  the 
infliction. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  press  me  to  leave  you  alone 
with  Amelia  again,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  know  she  is 
smoke  to  your  eyes  and  vinegar  to  your  teeth.  You 
always  look  wearied  out  after  one  of  her  visitations." 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was   Tamed.  239 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking  now  ?  "  he  asked, 
roughly.  "  I  wish  you  were  one-tenth  as  consci- 
entious in  the  discharge  of  your  home  duties  as  she 
is,  and  cared  as  little  for  the  attentions  of  other  men 
than  your  husband.  She  is  a  good,  pious  woman, 
whose  example  you  would  do  well  to  imitate,  instead 
of  trying  to  poison  my  mind  against  her.  I  shall  be 
glad  when  this  hubbub  of  company  is  over.  Your 
head  is  more  topsy-turvey  than  when  you  came  here, 
and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal." 

"  I  only  meet  your  friends  because  you  desire  it, 
Fred,"  the  astonished  wife  had  the  self-command  to 
answer. 

"  I  understand  that  is  one  of  your  stock-phrases.  I 
am  sick  of  hypocritical  cant." 

She  could  get  nothing  more  of  explanation  from 
him,  but  from  that  hour  the  thorns  thickened  in  her 
path.  It  was  a  late  day  for  her  to  begin  a  study  so 
difficult  as  circumspection  in  word  and  look  as  in 
deed,  but  she  addressed  herself  to  it  without  hesi- 
tation, feeling  that  her  husband's  health  and  her  own 
peace  of  mind  might  be  the  forfeit  of  indiscretion. 
She  said  not  a  wrord  to  any  human  being  of  her  ef- 
forts and  her  failures;  held  up  her  head  as  gayly, 
smiled  as  radiantly,  as  when  her  heart  lay  bleeding 
under  the  knife  of  the  sudden,  angry  parting  from 
her  just  betrothed  lover,  or  dumb  and  faint  with  the 
belief  that  he  had  died  without  forgiving  or  remem- 
bering her.  Gradually  and  adroitly  she  withdrew 
from  general  society,  seldom  appearing  in  public  ex- 
cept on  Sabbath,  when  she  sat  beside  her  mother-in- 
law  in  the  family  pew  of  the  church  presided  over  by 


240  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

the  Rev.  Arthur,  and  on  fine  days  seated  in  a  close 
carriage  beside  her  invalid  spouse.  Fred's  sufferings 
were  often  most  acute  at  night ;  and  when  compar- 
atively free  from  pain  he  could  not  sleep  well,  through 
excess  of  nervous  excitement.  It  did  not  seem  to 
occur  to  any  of  the  family,  except  Frank,  who  might 
protest  and  fume,  but  was  impotent  to  work  any 
change  in  what  he  deprecated,  that  while  they  pitied 
Frederick,  on  hearing  his  account  of  the  hours  he  had 
heard  strike  while  tossing  upon  his  torture-couch, 
compassion  was  also  due  her  who  was  during  them 
all  his  wakeful,  busy  attendant.  If  she  was  worn  and 
had  an  indifferent  appetite  in  the  morning,  the  trifling 
circumstance  passed  unremarked  by  word  of  inquiry 
or  sympathy.  It  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  them  that 
this  girl,  with  her  exuberance  of  vitality,  accustomed 
from  her  babyhood  to  hours  of  exercise  daily  in  the 
open  air,  and  to  sleep  soundly  at  night  without 
dream  or  awaking,  was  now  bound  down  to  the  dis- 
piriting routine  of  a  sick-nurse's  life,  with  none  of  the 
professional  nurse's  privileges.  For  all  that  the 
closest  observer  could  tell,  it  was  less  than  nothing 
to  them  that  she  bore  the  heavy  brunt,  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  of  Fred's  peevishness  ;  his  fits  of 
anger,  violent  or  sullen  ;  his  incessant  requests  for  at- 
tention and  diversion ;  the  sarcasms,  the  sneers,  and 
causeless  reproaches  which  they  know  were  the  por- 
tion of  whomsoever  fate  condemned  to  be  constantly 
near  him  and  at  the  mercy  of  his  caprices.  They 
held  on  their  way,  and  left  her  to  that  she  had  cho- 
sen without  an  effort  to  soften  its  harsher  features. 
"  She  knew  what  she  was  doing  when  she  married 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  241 

Fred,"  the  mother  would  say,  almost  as  often  as  did 
her  selfish  daughter.  "Arthur  warned  her  faith- 
fully." 

Which  circumstance  served  as  an  ample  excuse  for 
their  neglect  of  her,  legitimate  release  from  all  duties 
which  had  devolved  upon  them  as  Fred's  relatives  and 
nurses  while  he  was  single. 

"It  is  her  business,"  was  the  invariable  reply  to 
Frank's  assertion  that  "  it  was  a  deuced  hard  lot  for 
any  woman."  "  She  has  only  herself  to  blame." 

Madeline  had  been  for  eight  months  an  inmate  of 
the  Rileigh  mansion,  when  Frank,  overtaking  her  on 
the  stairs  one  evening,  stayed  her  by  seizing  her  arm 
and  was  shocked  to  feel  how  slight  it  was. 

"  This  is  going  too  far,  Maddie,"  he  said,  feelingly. 
"  Close  confinement  this  hot  weather  is  telling  upon 
your  strength.  Fred  must  be  made  to  hear  reason. 
For  your  good,  if  not  for  his  own,  he  must  be  taken 
to  the  mountains  or  sea-shore." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  please,"  replied  she,  lowering 
her  voice.  "  He  would  miss  the  comforts  of  home, 
and  you  know  his  aversion  to  meeting  strangers.  I 
am  none  the  worse  for  having  less  weight  to  carry 
in  the  summer,  but  decidedly  the  more  comfortable. 
Don't  you  remember  the  man  who  longed  in  the  dog- 
days  to  shake  off  his  flesh  and  sit  in  his  bones  a 
little  while?" 

"  You'll  be  a  skeleton  in  reality  if  you  don't  take 
care  of  yourself,"  pursued  the  other.  "  Be  reasonable 
for  once.  Alice  and  I  are  going  out  for  a  moonlight 
sail  on  the  river.  Come  with  us.  I  will  send  mother 
up  to  look  after  Fred." 


242  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was   Tamed. 

Madeline  shook  her  head,  with  a  grateful  smile  into 
the  kindly  anxious  face. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  dear  brother.  But  my 
poor  boy  has  a  bad  headache  to-night,  and  I  must  sing 
or  read  it  away.  Good-evening,  and  a  pleasant  sail  to 
you ! " 

"  Fred's  abominable  selfishness  is  killing  that  woman 
by  inches,"  proclaimed  Frank,  indignantly,  returning  to 
the  parlor.  "And  we  shall  not  be  guiltless  if  we  do 
not  interfere.  I  never  saw  another  woman  so  changed 
in  the  same  time.  I  have  been  begging  her  to  go  with 
us,  Alice,  but  she  cannot  leave  that  pampered  despoxt 
up-stairs." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  Alice  would  feel  complimented 
by  your  anxiety  to  increase  the  size  of  your  party," 
said  Felicia's  over-ready  tongue,  while  Mrs.  Arthur 
looked  unutterable  things.  "  When  you  find  your 
knight  missing  some  day,  don't  say  I  didn't  open 
your  eyes — or  try  to." 

"Absurd!"  retorted  Frank,  contemptuously.  "I 
say  nothing  of  the  taste  and  delicacy  of  such  insinua- 
tions, Felicia,  for  there  can  be  but  one  opinion  on  that 
head.  I  only  object  to  your  evasion  of  the  question 
of  our  duty  to  Fred's  wife.  She  cannot  take  care  of 
her  health  and  he  will  not.  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
have  her  father  or  her  sisters  see  her.  Such  a  bril- 
liant, beautiful  creature  as  she  was  when  she  came  to 
us !  And  look  at  her  now !  I  don't  believe  she 
weighs  a  hundred  pounds.  I  took  hold  of  her  arm 
just  now,  and  it  is  as  small  as  a  baby's,  without  the 
plumpness." 

Mrs.  Arthur  cleared  her  throat  prudishly. 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  243 

"  Is  not  this  a  question  to  be  considered  by  your 
brother  rather  than  by  yourself,  Franklin  ?  " 

"  Does  he  consider  anything  except  the  ease  of  his 
precious,  patched-up  body  ?  "  cried  Frank,  in  generous 
heat.  "If  this  glorious  woman  is  to  fall  a  victim  to 
his  selfishness,  I  shall  be  tempted  to  wish  he  had  been 
killed  when  he  went  over  the  cliff." 

Felicia's  voice  was  loudest  in  the  outcry  that  fol- 
lowed. 

"  I  have  often  thought  you  were  fast  coming  to  that 
point." 

Too  angry  to  reply,  Frank  accosted  his  betrothed : 
"  If  you  are  ready,  Alice,  we  will  go." 

She  arose,  without  a  word  to  him,  said  "  Good-even- 
ing ! "  all  around,  and  they  left  the  house  together. 
But  when  he  would  have  turned  down  the  street  lead- 
ing to  the  river,  she  held  back. 

"  I  prefer  that  you  should  take  me  home,  Frank. 
Then  I  think  Mrs.  Fred  Rileigh  will  go  with  you." 

"Alice  !  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  she  went  on,  her  voice  thin- 
ning as  it  heightened,  after  the  manner  of  very  amia- 
ble women  when  they  are  fairly  enraged.  "  I  have 
seen  this  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  ever  since  she 
came  to  your  house,  seen  how  you  admired  her  and 
she  you.  I  don't  wonder  she  is  getting  thin  and  pale, 
but  it  isn't  with  waiting  upon  her  husband.  She  is 
pining  with  love  for  you.' 

"  There  !  you  have  said  enough,"  said  honest  Frank, 
quietly.  "  No  one  shall  slander  a  good,  pure  wo- 
man while  I  can  prevent  it.  I  had  given  you  credit 
for  more  justice,  more  charity,  more  common  sense. 


244  How  "Mad  Marcy"  ivas  Tamed. 

When  you  are  calm,  you  will  see  for  yourself  how  pre- 
posterous is  the  charge  you  have  made  against  me  and 
against  my  sister-in-law." 

"  Never  !  "  beginning  to  sob.  "And  it  is  very  rude 
in  you  to  intimate  that  I  am  a  fool  or  in  a  passion  be- 
cause you  have  forced  me  to  speak  plainly.  This  rup- 
ture must  have  come  sooner  or  later.  I  have  known 
it  ever  since  that  first  fatal  evening.  I  have  not  had 
a  moment  of  real  happiness  since  this  bold,  designing 
creature  crossed  my  path.  But  when  it  comes  to 
your  wishing  your  brother  dead  it  is  time  to  act." 

Great  was  the  amazement  and  deep  the  regret  of 
the  Rileighs  when  Frank  announced  to  them  next 
day  the  dissolution  of  his  engagement,  declining 
however  to  give  the  particulars  of  the  rupture  or  the 
cause. 

"  There's  something  in  this  more  than  a  common 
lover's  quarrel,"  said  Felicia,  sagely,  to  her  mother. 
"And  I  will  probe  it  to  the  bottom." 

Without  waste  of  time  she  betook  herself  to  Alice's 
abode,  ostensibly  as  a  mediator,  in  fact  as  a  spy,  and 
came  back  laden  with  a  big  budget  of  scandal — a 
story  that,  leaking  out  through  various  channels,  in 
three  days  had  reached  nearly  every  quarter  of  the 
city.  It  was  excluded  from  Fred's  apartments  during 
this  time.  He  was  laboring  under  a  brief  but  severe 
attack  of  illness,  and  Madeline  did  not  leave  him  ex- 
cept for  her  meals.  Disregarding,  in  her  solicitude 
on  his  account,  the  moody  silence  and  sulky  or  tart 
speeches  that  were  the  replies  to  her  few  remarks 
while  at  table,  she  had  no  suspicion  of  the  event  that 
had  set  the  tongues  of  a  thousand  gossips  to  wagging 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  245 

and  stirred  up  in  the  breasts  of  her  relatives-in-law 
deadly  distrust  and  dislike  of  herself.  It  was,  there- 
fore, with  no  especial  misgivings  beyond  a  fear  that 
the  society  of  the  discreet  pastoress  might  work  its 
usual  consequences  in  vexing  her  husband,  that  she 
obeyed  his  directions  to  leave  him  with  Mrs.  Arthur, 
while  she  herself  took  an  hour's  rest.  Seeking  a  spare 
bed-chamber  in  the  third  story  as  the  most  quiet  in 
the  house,  since  Frank's  room  was  the  only  one  near 
ever  used  by  the  family,  and  he  never  came  home  un- 
til evening — leaving  door  and  sashes  open  to  admit 
what  little  air  might  be  abroad  on  the  stifling  after- 
noon— too  weary  and  heavy  with  sleep  to  make  any 
change  in  her  dress,  Madeline  threw  herself  across  the 
bed,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  was  in  a  profound 
slumber. 

The  hour  went  by — two — and  she  had  not  stirred. 
Mrs.  Arthur  felt  the  cords  of  her  own  home  duties 
tugging  at  her  conscientious  soul  more  and  more  im- 
peratively, and  finally,  urged  by  Fred,  mounted  the 
stairs  in  quest  of  the  delinquent.  Bars  of  gold  pene- 
trated the  shutters,  and  lay,  still  and  bright,  upon  the 
white-robed  figure  on  the  bed. 

"  What  an  indecorous  but  studied  posture ! " 
thought  the  immaculate  matron,  pausing  to  note 
the  pretty  feet,  from  one  of  which  the  slipper  had 
fallen  to  the  floor,  the  head  pillowed  by  the  bare 
arms,  Madeline  having  been  too  tired  to  think  of  any 
other  support.  "Suppose  Frank  had  passed  the 
door !  May  be  that  was  what  she  expected.  He  may 
talk  of  her  worn  looks,  but  she  is  handsome  enough 
still  to  be  a  snare  to  most  men — a  very  Delilah  !  " 


246  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed. 

In  the  excess  of  her  virtuous  indignation,  she  shook 
the  sleeper  by  both  arms — I  am  not  sure  but  she 
pinched  them,  for  the  temptation  was  great.  Mad- 
eline's eyes  opened  widely. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you,  Amelia?  "  Then,  laughing  nervously 
— Mrs.  Arthur  thought  guiltily — "  I  was  dreaming 
about  Frank,  and  I  really  thought  you  were  he.  I  was 
ascending  Mount  Vesuvius  all  alone  and  toppled  over 
on  the  verge  of  the  crater — down  !  down  !  when  sud- 
denly I  heard  him  laugh  and  he  jumped  out  from 
behind  a  rock  and  caught  my  arm.  Thank  you  for 
waking  me  !  My  arms  are  fast  asleep  still,"  sitting  up 
and  rubbing  them.  "  The  nightmare  was  induced  by 
something  I  was  reading  to  Fred  to-day  about  the  last 
eruption  of  Vesuvius.  Have  I  overslept  myself? 
How  is  Fred  ?  Why  didn't  you  call  me  before?  Has 
anything  happened?  "  noting,  as  her  eyes  became  ac- 
customed to  the  mingled  gloom  and  glare  of  the  room, 
the  awful  severity  of  the  round  white  face,  the  omi- 
nous set  of  the  thin  lips. 

"  Nothing  new.  But  your  husband,  of  whom  you 
were  not  dreaming,  wishes  to  see  you,"  was  the  tre- 
mendous rejoinder. 

"  He  is  worse  !  "  ejaculated  Madeline,  and  without 
further  stay  or  parley  flew  breathlessly  down-stairs. 

He  was  worse,  for  his  mother  was  with  him  piling 
the  pillows  behind  him  in  the  posture  that  always  in- 
dicated distress  for  breath,  and  his  complexion  was 
livid. 

"Darling,  what  is  it?"  cried  the  terrified  Jpife. 
"  Why  did  you  not  send  for  me  " — 

She  had  stooped  to  put  her  arms  about  him  and  lift 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  247 

him  higher  upon  the  lounge,  when  he  struck  her  in 
the  face  with  his  clenched  fist — a  blow  so  true  and 
heavy  in  the  might  of  his  fury  that  it  dashed  her  to 
the  floor.  In  falling,  she  caught  the  epithet  he  hurled 
at  her  with  an  oath.  The  scar  of  that  wound  never 
left  her  heart. 

•  On  the  following  day  a  card  was  brought  to  Mad- 
eline as  she  sat  in  the  darkened  room  beside  her  hus- 
band, whose  fit  of  rage  had  been  succeeded  by  a  night 
of  pain  and  a  day  of  utter  prostration. 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  sulkily,  a  suspicious  gleam 
lighting  his  sunken  eyes,  as  she  half  arose,  then  re- 
sumed her  chair  as  if  irresolute. 

"  My  father  and  mother.  Shall  I  ask  them  up  here, 
or  excuse  myself  and  let  them  call  again  when  you  are 
better?" 

Her  steady,  somewhat  monotonous  tone  was  not 
unpleasant  to  an  ear  unacquainted  with  her  animated 
intonations,  but  Fred  moved  uneasily  at  the  sound. 

"  What  a  ridiculous  question  !  "  he  retorted,  testily. 
"Would  you  have  them  think  you  a  prisoner?  Go 
down  at  once.  Tell  Mary  to  listen  for  my  bell." 

He  was  ashamed  to  glance  at  the  dark  bruise  upon 
her  cheek,  but  he  tortured  himself  when  she  had  gone 
with  speculations  as  to  how  she  would  account  for  it 
to  her  parents.  Would  she  expose  his  brutality  of  act, 
and  the  baser  cruelty  of  the  charge  he  was  even  yet 
but  half  convinced  was  groundless,  so  deftly  had  Mrs. 
Arthur  done  her  benevolent  work  of  enlightenment, 
so  easily  had  the*  prepared  train  of  jealousy  in  his 
breast  been  fired  ? 

Mrs.  Rileigh  and  Felicia  were  in  the  parlor   with 


248  How  "Mad  Marcy"  was   Tamed. 

other  guests  when  Judge  Marcy  and  his  wife  entered, 
and  Madeline  found  the  four  engaged  in  conversation 
and  already  upon  excellent  terms  of  acquaintanceship. 

As  Fred  had  foreseen,  the  judge's  first  inquiry,  after 
he  had  kissed  his  favorite,  was :  "  My  daughter,  what 
have  you  been  doing  to  your  face?" 

Mrs.  Rileigh's  stealthy  look  at  her  daughter  met 
one  as  full  of  apprehension,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  es- 
caped the  bosom  of  each  at  Madeline's  unembarrassed 
reply— 

"  I  had  a  fall,  papa.  You  know  I  never  walked  as 
safely  through  life  as  most  people  do." 

"  I  never  saw  a  more  marked  improvement  in  any 
woman,"  said  Mrs.  Marcy,  who  was  renowned  for  her 
sagacity  and  excellent  judgment  of  character. 

They  were  back  in  their  hotel,  having  spent  the 
evening  with  the  Rileighs,  and  the  subject  under  dis- 
cussion was  her  husband's  second  daughter. 

"  Her  manners  are  the  perfection  of  refined  repose," 
the  lady  continued.  '.'  She  has  acquired  dignity  of 
demeanor  and  stability  of  thought.  I  am  exceedingly 
gratified.  I  thought  this  marriage  would  tame  and 
tone  down  her  wild  spirits,  if  anything  could/' 

"  True,  my  dear."  The  judge  spoke  musingly,  and 
there  was  a  regretful,  yearning  look  in  his  face.  "  I 
have  lost,  my  madcap  forever,  I  see.  As  you  say,  she 
is  an  elegant,  dignified  woman.  But  I  wish  I  knew 
by  what  process  the  change  was  wrought." 

Ten  years  later  Madeline  Rileigh  laid  in  the  grave 
the  warped  frame  to  which  she  had  ministered  so  faith- 
fully and  so  long  and  returned  to  her  girlhood's  home. 
Her  step-mother  was  dead,  but  the  old  house  was 


How  "Mad  Marcy"  was  Tamed.  249 

scarcely  the  gayer  for  the  coming  of  the  new  and 
younger  mistress.  Her  footsteps  fell  without  sound 
in  hall  and  upon  stair,  as  they  had  done  upon  the  floor 
of  the  sick  room  ;  her  voice  was  subdued  with  even 
cadences  ;  her  very  smiles  rare  and  chastened.  Before 
his  brother  had  been  a  twelve  month  dead,  Frank  Ri- 
leigh,  the  most  petted  bachelor  of  his  circle,  asked  her 
to  marry  him. 

"  You  have  not  your  peer  among  women,"  he  said. 
"  I,  who  have  watched  you  so  long  and  closely,  should 
know  this.  Let  my  love  restore  some  of  the  lost 
brightness  to  the  life  so  early  and  wantonly  blighted." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head,  as  a  mother  might 
caress  a  foolishly-fond  son. 

"  There  is  not  a  gray  hair  here,  Frank,  while  I  have 
at  least  a  hundred.  You  call  yourself  a  year  my  senior, 
when  in  reality  I  am  fifty  years  older  than  you.  I  love 
you  too  well,  dear  brother,  to  do  you  the  wrong  of 
marrying  you.  I  can  never  love  or  hope  again  in  the 
way  you  speak  of.  The  germ  of  possible  affection  for 
any  man  was  scorched  out  years  ago.  And,"  with  a 
faint  smile  more  mournful  than  tears,  "  trees  killed  by 
lightning  don't  put  up  from  the  root,  you  know." 


LOIS  GRANT,  AND  HER  REWARD. 


PART   I. 

ONE  of  the  prettiest  and  most  striking  of  the  many 
picturesque  bits  of  scenery  to  be  found  in  the  moun- 
tainous township  of  Berkeley  was  the  Stony  Ford 
Bridge  and  its  surroundings.  A  hill  arose  abruptly  on 
each  side  of  the  creek ;  one  crowned  by  a  venerable 
stone  church,  erected,  it  was  said,  in  Queen  Anne's 
time,  a  well-peopled  graveyard,  and  the  smart,  new 
academy,  but  a  year  old,  white,  with  green  blinds  and 
a  sharp  upstart  of  a  cupola,  which  faced  the  antiquated 
building  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  public  road. 
The  other  and  less  rocky  eminence  was  green  with 
fields  and  orchards  and  capped  by  a  spacious  farm- 
house. A  long  portico  ran  along  the  front,  covered 
with  roses  and  clematis  and  honeysuckles  all  ablow,  at 
the  season  of  which  we  are  writing,  and  a  flower-gar- 
den separated  it  from  the  dusty  highway.  It  was  a 
healthful  situation  and  a  beautiful  one,  the  abode  of 
thrift  and  comfort,  and,  judging  from  the  excellent 
condition  and  the  extent  of  mansion  and  outhouses, 
of  wealth  likewise.  The  weathercock  upon  the  great 
barn — a  gilded  horse  at  full  gallop — was  visible  for 
miles  around,  and  had  no  compeer  in  the  estimation 
251 


252  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

of  the  admiring  population  living  within  sight  of  it, 
until  the  district  school  committee  mounted  a  rooster, 
colossean  in  dimensions,  saucy  in  attitude,  and  yellow- 
est gilt  in  color  upon  the  pert  spire  of  their  model 
edifice. 

The  rival  vanes  were  shooting  back  the  slant  sun- 
beams at  one  another  on  a  breezy  June  afternoon 
when  a  man  came  out  of  the  school-room  door,  locked 
it  behind  him,  put  the  key  into  his  pocket  and  walked 
slowly  down  the  road  to  the  bridge.  This  was  a  sub- 
stantial structure,  fifteen  feet  high  and  as  many  broad, 
spanning  in  one  massive  arch  a  rapid  torrent,  celebrated 
in  the  early  summer  for  the  number  and  size  of  the 
trout  that  lurked  and  leaped  in  its  hollows  and  eddies, 
and  in  late  winter  for  the  height  and  violence  of  its 
freshets.  The  bridge  was  a  match  for  these  last,  and 
had  held  its  own  for  many  years,  said  the  lichens  that 
had  collected  in  slow  gray  circles  upon  the  red  sand- 
stone of  which  it  was  built  and  the  block  of  marble  lot 
into  the  parapet  bearing  the  date  of  its  completion. 
The  pedestrian  leaned  over  this  in  his  halt  upon  the 
causeway.  Many  other  passengers  on  foot  and  in 
carriages  paused  every  day  upon  the  same  spot,  and 
looked  up  the  rapids  into  the  far  dark  recess  formed 
by  perpendicular  walls  of  rock  and  arching  hemlocks, 
lit  up  by  ghastly  streaks  of  foam  upon  the  boiling 
waters  ;  then  down  into  the  lighter  vista  of  willows, 
golden  in  the  spring-time,  bright  green  all  summer, 
through  which  the  stream  found  its  way  into  the  low 
country.  But  the  solitary  man  traversed  this  route 
twice,  sometimes  four  times  a  day,  usually  without 
casting  a  glance  either  to  the  right  or  the  left,  and  he 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  253 

stood  now,  one  hand  clasped  within  its  fellow  laid 
heavily  upon  the  parapet,  his  head  bowed  upon  his 
breast,  his  eyes  seeming  to  search  the  depths  of  the 
seething  current  as  it  entered  the  archway.  Very 
white — almost  effeminate  looked  the  hands  by  contrast 
with  the  reddish-brown  of  the  stone,  and  his  face  was 
many  shades  fairer  than  the  bronzed  tint  prevalent  in 
the  complexion  of  the  people  of  the  district — hardy 
sons  of  the  plough,  who  feared  neither  vertical  sun 
nor  the  midwinter  sleet.  The  features  of  the  lounger 
were  cast  in  a  manly  mould,  and  his  erect  port,  broad 
chest  and  shoulders  enforced  commendation  and  re- 
spect from  those  who  might  otherwise  have  scoffed  at 
his  tastes  and  habits,  in  whose  eyes  a  bookworm  was 
utterly  contemned,  and  a  puny  scholar  found  no  favor. 
He  had  not  the  mien  of  one  with  whom  it  was  safe  to 
trifle  or  to  bandy  words.  His  gray  eyes — melancholy 
now  to  moodiness,  could  grow  very  black  and  fierce 
under  the  knitted  brows,  and  his  handsome  mouth 
could  be  scornful  and  stubborn  as  easily  as  it  could 
smile.'  His  dress  was  scrupulously  neat,  and  the  cir- 
cumstance of  his  wearing  it  lent  a  touch  of  style — that 
nameless,  potent  charm — to  the  coarse  gray  sack  and 
pantaloons,  almost  threadbare  at  the  seams.  He 
would  have  looked  the  gentleman  in  the  disguise  of  a 
workman's  blouse  and  paper  cap,  and  there  was  some- 
thing in  this  rough  suit,  the  only  one  he  owned  that 
was  comfortable  for  warm  weather  wear — which  en- 
hanced the  independent  grace  of  his  carriage  and  as- 
serted his  lordly  independence  of  Fashion's  dictates  as 
interpreted  by  those  who  were  now  his  associates,  his 
supreme  indifference  to  the  criticism  of  those  he  did 


254  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

not  acknowledge  as  his  equals.  In  this  respect,  his 
manner  belied  the  inner  man,  as  he  intended  it  should. 
No  mortal  living  cared  more  for  outward  show,  longed 
more  greedily  than  did  he  for  popularity  and  such  dis- 
tinction as  talent  and  personal  attractions  can  purchase. 
These — David  Rodman  conceived  the  world  owed 
him.  Those  who  liked  him  least  confessed  that  his 
abilities  and  scholarship  were  of  no  mean  order,  and 
that  his  noble  figure  and  face  would  have  made  amends 
in  the  eyes  of  the  multitude,  for  comparative  poverty 
of  mental  gifts.  He  had  carried  off  the  highest  honors 
of  his  Alma  Mater  at  his  graduation  three  years  be- 
fore ;  for  one  brief  day,  been  lionized  almost  to  his 
heart's  content ;  had  one  hasty,  intoxicating  draught 
of  the  renown  and  applause  that  were  his  dream  by 
day  and  by  night;  yet  here  he  was,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-three,  the  teacher  of  a  country  "  academy," 
with  a  salary  that  barely  fed  and  clothed  him  and  paid 
the  very  moderate  fee  for  his  tuition,  out  of  school 
hours,  in  the  office  of  a  provincial  lawyer  in  the  village 
two  miles  away.  The  young  man  walked  this  distance 
and  back  five  afternoons  in  the  week,  no  matter  how 
weary,  or  what  the  weather  might  be,  returning  to  his 
farm-house  lodgings  at  nightfall,  bringing  with  him 
one,  two,  or  three  ponderous  tomes,  which  he  sat  up 
into  the  small  hours  to  study.  Had  his  physical  health 
been  less  firm  he  must  have  succumbed  to  the  enor- 
mous labor  and  fatigue  of  his  self-prescribed  course  of 
preparation  for  the  career  he  had  chalked  out  for  him- 
self. His  energy  matched  his  ambition,  and  in  his 
sanguine  moods  he  prophesied  great  and  desirable  re- 
sults from  the  combined  forces. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  255 

Not  that  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  doubt  that  he 
would  ultimately  reach  the  goal  of  success  and  fame. 
But  there  were  hours  and  days  in  the  which  he  rebelled 
angrily  at  the  fate  which  obliged  him  to  undermine 
the  opposing  walls  instead  of  vaulting  over  them ; 
when  the  wish  for  money  and  influence  was  a  passion, 
and  a  mad  one. 

He  would  sell  his  soul  to  be  master  of  these,  he  said, 
this  afternoon — blind  to  the  beauties  of  the  scene ; 
deaf  to  the  wooing  voices  with  which  Nature  bade 
him  enter  her  pavilion,  and  be  calmed  if  not  com- 
forted. 

"  Kept  down  !  "  he  muttered  surlily,  grinding  his 
heel  into  the  flooring  of  the  bridge.  "Compelled  not 
only  to  climb  unaided,  but  to  build  the  ladder  by  which 
I  would  mount." 

Kept  down  !  That  was  ever  the  text  of  his  gloomy 
musings.  Kept  down  by  his  plebeian  birth  and  his 
poverty.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  trace  the 
origin  of  ideas  and  ambition  seemingly  so  incongru- 
ous to  his  lineage  and  early  education.  His  father,  a 
small  farmer,  had  died  before  David's  birth,  and  his 
mother,  whose  only  strength  was  in  her  affections,  sus- 
tained by  these  had  fought  single-handed  against 
penury  until  the  marriage  of  her  elder  child,  a  daugh- 
ter, to  an  industrious  mechanic  gave  her  a  home  for 
the  remainder  of  her  days.  Her  boy — her  pride  and 
darling,  then  a  fine,  handsome  lad  of  sixteen — met 
with  no  encouragement  in  word  or  act  from  his  brother- 
in-law  to  pursue  the  studies  he  had  commenced  with  a 
steady  eye  to  the  practice  of  a  learned  profession. 

"  It  was  queer,"  said   the   puzzled  artisan,  "  where 


256  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

the  fellow  ever  picked  up  his  stuck-up  notions.  Learn- 
ing was  a  good  thing  for  rich  people  to  spend  money 
upon,  but  it  was  a  blamed  expensive  luxury  and  ought 
not  to  be  thought  of  by  one  who  had  to  earn  his  liv- 
ing." 

He  offered,  therefore,  to  take  the  youth  into  his 
shop  as  an  apprentice,  and  when  the  proposal  was 
declined  with  more  haughtiness  than  gratitude,  "  only 
hoped" — this  to  the  mother,  who  was  present  during 
the  conference — "  that  the  fool  would  not  hang  him- 
self before  he  had  played  out  the  hull  length  of  his 
line." 

"  My  mother  can  trust  me,"  rejoined  David,  proudly. 

"  If  she  does,  she  is  the  only  person  as  will,"  an- 
swered the  irate  machinist. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  good  sir,"  the  boy  said,  in 
smiling  insolence  ;  "  I  believe  in  myself.  I  shall  never 
receive  alms  from  you  nor  ask  assistance  from  any  one 
else." 

Nevertheless,  his  mother  had  secretly  helped  him 
through  his  collegiate  course  by  means  of  the  sale  of 
her  little  property  and  sundry  small  gains  from  needle 
and  knitting-work.  David  had  noted  the  receipt  of 
these  remittances  in  his  memorandum-book.  Some 
day  he  would  repay  her  with  interest,  compounded 
after  a  rule  of  his  own. 

That  day  had  never  seemed  further  off  than  it  did 
at  present.  His  preceptor,  a  man  of  sound  sense  and 
respectable  attainments,  had  complimented  him  upon 
his  proficiency  in  legal  lore  the  preceding  day. 

"  I  can  teach  you  nothing  more,"  he  admitted. 
"  You  must  apply  for  a  license  when  your  school-term 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  257 

is  ended.  You  could  pass  an  examination  creditably 
in  any  law-school  in  the  country." 

"And  then?"  said  David  briefly. 

The  lawyer  looked  puzzled,  and  hesitated.  "  The 
truth  is,  Rodman,"  he  broke  forth  at  length  in  friendly 
bluntness,  "  your  talents  are  thrown  away  upon  this 
community.  Should  you  put  out  your  shingle  in  this 
town  or  any  other  within  fifty  miles  of  this  place,  you 
would  have  fewer  clients  than  if  you  were  a  preten- 
tious, illiterate  pettifogger.  I  would  take  you  into 
partnership  if  I  could,  but  I  am  as  poor  as  a  church- 
mouse,  you  know.  You  should  take  an  office  in  the 
city,  and  bide  your  time.  There's  an  opportunity 
waiting  for  you  somewhere,  and  you  should  be  on  the 
look-out.  Haven't  you  influential  friends  who  could 
give  you  a  lift  into  notice?  When  you  are  once  seen 
the  rest  will  follow.  You  have  within  yourself  the 
elements  of  success." 

"  So  has  the  pearl  hidden  in  the  oyster,"  returned 
the  student,  with  a  smile  more  sardonic  than  gratified. 
"  But  it  cannot  pry  open  the  jaws  of  its  prison." 

"  An  office  in  the  city,"  he  repeated  aloud,  recur- 
ring to  the  conversation  while  he  hung  over  the  para- 
pet. "  Who  would  be  fool  enough  to  trust  me  for  a 
quarter's  rent,  I  wonder?  'Bide  my  time,'  indeed! 
What  if  starvation  and  the  debtor's  prison  come  to 
me  before  the  golden  opportunity  Curtis  so  patron- 
izingly assures  me  is  waiting  for  me  somewhere?  An 
indefinite  locality  that,  and  one  very  far  ahead  of  me, 
I  fancy."  • 

At  that  instant  a  light  footstep  struck  the  bridge 
behind  him,  and  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  in  an- 


258  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

noyed  expectancy  of  interruption.  He  was  in  no 
humor  to  play  the  gallant  to  simpering  Chloe,  or  dis- 
cuss neighborhood  gossip  with  her  mother,  and  he 
knew  the  step  for  a  woman's. 

The  intruder  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  a  lady. 
Her  dress,  although  inexpensive  in  material  and  mod- 
est in  fashion,  her  black  straw  hat,  banded  with  crape, 
her  dainty  gauntlets  and  parasol  would  have  set  her 
apart  for  his  notice  among  Chloe  and  her  comrades, 
had  not  her  even,  gliding  gait  and  quiet  self-possession 
indicated  her  familiarity  with  carefully-graded  pave- 
ments and  the  unobservant  crowds  she  met  thereupon. 
A  city  lady  she  was — well-dressed  and  graceful,  but, 
the  same  glance  showed  him,not  very  young  nor  in  the 
least  pretty.  She  was  short  of  stature,  and  very  slen- 
der, with  a  dark  skin  and  irregular  features.  Her 
mouth  and  nose  were  too  large,  her  eyes  too  small, 
and  her  forehead  low.  David's  regards,  after  the  one 
swift  look,  were  returning  listlessly  to  their  survey  of 
the  hurrying  stream,  when  a  sudden  flaw  of  wind  tore 
down  the  gorge,  snatched  the  lady's  veil  from  her  hat 
and  swept  it  past  him  over  the  parapet,  lodging  it  upon 
a  willow  branch  projecting  far  over  the  creek.  Rod- 
man caught  at  it  as  it  flew  above  his  head,  and  failing 
to  touch  it  ran  down  the  slight  slope  of  the  crossing 
and  around  the  abutment  below  toward  the  tree  from 
the  highest  peak  of  which  fluttered  the  sable  pennon. 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself,  I  beg.  Please  do  not 
try  to  get  it !  "  called  a  sweet,  tremulous  voice  from 
the  bridge. 

"  It  is  no  trouble  to  me,"  he  returned,  laconically, 
springing  upon  a  low  bough. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  259 

It  bent  so  far  under  his  weight  that  the  looker-on 
again  exclaimed  in  deprecation,  then  held  her  breath 
in  terror,  mingled  with  admiration,  as  he  made  his 
way  rapidly  yet  cautiously  to  the  swaying  topmost 
limb  and  drew  himself  along  it  within  reach  of  the 
prize.  She  noted,  moreover,  the  care  with  which  he 
disentangled  it  from  the  twig,  and  that  he  folded  and 
put  it  into  his  bosom  lest  it  should  be  injured  in  his 
descent  She  met  him  upon  the  bank,  coloring  and 
smiling,  but  still  self-possessed. 

"  You  are  very  kind.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you. 
But  I  am  sorry  I  have  subjected  you  to  inconvenience 
and  danger,"  she  said,  receiving  the  trophy  he  pre- 
sented with  his  best  bow. 

"The  inconvenience,  as  you  call  it,  was  a  mere 
nothing,  and  there  was  no  danger  at  all.  I  am  glad 
the  tree  intercepted  the  veil,"  was  his  reply,  gravely 
polite. 

He  touched  his  hat  again,  and  returned  to  his 
former  position  upon  the  bridge.  The  stranger  was 
going  up  the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the  farm-house, 
and  he  would  not  embarrass  her  by  his  company, 
would  show  her  her  error  if  she  considered  him  a 
common  rustic  without  breeding  or  tact.  "If^she 
were  an  acquaintance,  I  would  give  her  my  arm,"  he 
thought,  watching  the  straight  little  figure  on  its  way 
to  the  top  of  the  toilsome  ascent.  "  What  a  humbug 
is  conventionality ! "  Yet  in  his  heart  he  knew  that 
he  reverenced  and  feared  it. 

Half  an  hour  elapsed  before  he  presented  himself 
in  the  supper-room  in  response  to  the  shrill  summons 
of  the  horn  blown  upon  the  porch.  The  family  was 


260  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

collected  about  the  table,  and  directly  opposite  his 
vacant  chair  sat  the  owner  of  the  vagrant  veil  eating 
her  meal  as  composedly  as  if  she  had  taken  tea  in  the 
same  place  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times  a  year 
for  a  decade  at  least. 

"  We  have  had  an  addition  to  our  household  while 
you  were  away,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bracy,  the  motherly 
farmeress.  "  Miss  Grant,  Mr.  Rodman." 

Miss  Grant's  eyes  lit  up  with  a  smile  of  recognition. 
"  Mr.  Rodman  and  myself  have  seen  each  other  before, 
Mrs.  Bracy,"  she  said,  in  the  pure,  pleasant  intonations 
he  had  noticed  in  their  earlier  interview.  "  My  veil 
blew  off  as  I  was  crossing  the  bridge.  He  chanced  to 
be  standing  there  and  was  so  kind  as  to  bring  it  back. 
to  me." 

The  directness  and  ease  of  her  style  pleased  him. 
She  did  not  exaggerate  the  service  he  had  rendered 
her  into  heroism,  while  she  accepted  it  as  a  signal 
favor  and  a  step  toward  acquaintanceship.  "  A  lady," 
he  decided,  anew,  "  and  the  species  is  a  rarity  here- 
abouts." 

Her  appreciation  of  his  agreeable  qualities  and 
gentlemanhood  was  apparently  as  ready,  and  in  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  were  chatting  freely  and 
merrily.  His  first  impression  of  her  was  correct.  She 
was  from  the  city  and  had  always  resided  there  except 
when  absent  upon  a  foreign  tour  and  at  various  water- 
ing-places. These  last  she  had  frequented  as  she  had 
taken  the  sea  voyage,  in  company  with  an  invalid 
aunt,  whose  adopted  child  she  was,  and  their  journeys 
had  been  in  quest  of  health,  not  recreation. 

This    he    learned    incidentally   through    questions 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  261 

asked  and  observations  dropped  by  Mrs.  Bracy.  She 
had  known  the  elder  Miss  Grant  many  years  before, 
and  it  was  this  circumstance  which  had  induced  the 
niece  to  apply  to  her  for  summer  board  when  the 
death  of  her  relative  left  her  free  to  choose  a  retreat 
for  herself.  She  had  followed  the  letter  proposing 
this  plan  so  quickly  that  Mrs.  Bracy  had  not  had  time 
to  communicate  the  news  of  the  expected  arrival  to 
her  gentleman  lodger.  He  had  slept  in  the  village  a 
couple  of  nights,  while  his  final  examination  at  the 
hands  of  his  friend  the  lawyer  was  going  on,  and  Miss 
Grant  had  been  domesticated  with  her  present  hostess 
for  twenty-four  hours. 

"  She  is  a  nice,  kindly  little  creature,"  ruminated 
Rodman,  in  his  own  room,  opening  his  books  for  his 
nightly  studies  when  the  party  below  had  broken  up. 
"  Not  particularly  intellectual,  but  reasonably  intelli- 
gent— gifted,  I  should  say,  with  excellent  common 
sense  and  a  thoroughly  good  temper.  It  is  a  pity  she 
is  not  prettier,  but  there  is  something  attractive  about 
her,  despite  her  plain  face — an  air  of  refinement  and 
purity  more  uncommon  than  mere  prettiness.  It  is 
lucky  for  me  that  she  is  not  younger  and  gayer.  I 
have  not  time  to  undertake  a  brisk  flirtation  just  now. 
I  call  her  comfortable — an  elderly-sister  personage 
who  will  help  make  this  dull  old  house  endurable." 

Miss  Grant  slipped  at  once  and  without  friction  or 
jar  into  the  habits  of  the  farmer's  family — even  to  the 
early  breakfast,  noon-day  dinner  and  six  o'clock  tea. 
But,  little  by  little,  the  place  began  to  show  marks  of 
her  occupancy.  New  and  tempting  delicacies  were 
compounded  by  her  hands,  or  under  her  directions, 


262  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

out  of  materials  which  are  abundant  upon  every  farm 
— custards,  syllabubs,  velvety  creams,  omelettes  and 
cakes  the  names  of  which  Mrs.  Bracy  never  heard  be- 
fore. The  table  gradually  lost  its  characteristic  of 
rude  abundance  in  that  of  elegant  plenty  ;  the  furni- 
ture in  the  stiff,  airless  best  parlor,  left  the  spots  to 
which  the  several  articles  had  been  rigidly  condemned 
since  Mrs.  Bracy's  wedding-day,  and  fell  into  positions 
that  made  the  apartment  formal  no  longer.  The 
vault-like  closeness  was  dispelled  by  currents  of  per- 
fumed air  from  clover  meadows  and  flower-beds  that 
had  leave  to  rove  through  the  windows  all  day  long, 
and  David  soon  acquired  the  habit  of  repairing  thither 
every  afternoon  on  his  return  from  school,  in  the  con- 
fident expectation  of  finding  the  ladies  cozily  seated 
in  the  cool,  green  shadow  of  the  vines  draping  the  por- 
tico, engaged  with  their  needles — always  busy  and  al- 
ways cheerful — ready  to  talk  to  him  if  he  was  dis- 
posed to  be  social,  and  as  amiably  willing,  if  he  was 
silent,  in  weariness  or  thoughtfulness,  to  let  him  alone, 
going  on  with  their  gentle  murmur  of  conversation  in 
a  subdued  key,  while  he  stretched  himself  upon  the 
sofa  and  seemed  to  doze  or  read  at  the  windows  over- 
looking the  orchard.  He  became  very  fond  of  the 
good  genius  of  the  household  in  the  course  of  a  month  ; 
confided  to  her  his  dreams,  his  prospects,  and  his  dis- 
couragements more  freely  than  he  had  ever  done  to 
any  one  else.  She  was  an  inviting  listener,  and  so 
tactful  in  her  sympathy,  so  unobtrusive,  yet  so  sincere 
in  her  interest  in  whatever  he  chose  to  impart  of  his 
inner  life  and  outer  obstacles ;  so  hopeful  in  her  prog- 
nostications of  his  future,  and  resolute  in  her  belief 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reivard.  263 

that  failure  was  an  impossibility,  that  he  could  not 
deny  himself  the  treat  of  letting  her  understand  what 
he  had  overcome  and  the  great  things  he  meant  to 
accomplish. 

"  You  never  had  a  brother,  I  think  you  said  ?  "  in- 
terrogated he,  one  evening  as  they  sat  together  upon 
the  steps  of  the  portico. 

So  bright  was  the  moonlight,  and  so  clear  the  at- 
mosphere that  they  could  distinguish  across  the  val- 
ley, the  glitter  of  the  academy  watch-bird,  and  the 
solemn  gleam  of  the  stones  in  the  churchyard,  while 
the  continuous  flow  of  the  creek  over  the  rocky  ford 
filled  up  the  intervals  of  silence  which  occurred  in 
their  talk. 

"  No  !  "  The  accent  was  not  exactly  sad,  but  she 
sighed  softly  after  saying  it. 

"  It  is  a  pity  ! "  regretted  David. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  would  be  a  nonpareil  of  a  sister. 
There  is  much  said  and  sung  about  woman  as  man's 
inspiration.  Commend  me,  instead,  to  woman  as  his 
rest  and  his  comforter.  She  should  be  the  moon,  not 
the  sun  of  his  heavens — appreciative  rather  than  ur- 
gent ;  a  sedative,  not  a  stimulant." 

"  I  am  somewhat  surprised  to  hear  that  from  you," 
said  Miss  Grant,  looking  down  at  a  cluster  of  roses  he 
had  plucked  for  her  a  moment  before.  "I  fancied 
you  would  admire  brilliant  women,  such  as  are  learned 
in  literature  and  skilful  in  accomplishments." 

The  shrug  that  prefaced  his  reply  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  beau  blast  by  the  beauties  of  all  climes  and 
fifty  years  of  successful  gallantries.  "  My  dear  Miss 


264  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

Lois" — everybody  in  the  farm-house  had  dropped  the 
ceremonious  "  Miss  Grant  " — u  have  pity  upon  me  !  A 
learned  woman,  and  especially  a  talkative  bas  bleu  is 
my  favorite  detestation.  I  would  sooner  marry  a 
loving,  gentle  girl  who  could  not  write  her  name.  My 
wife — should  the  gods  ever  vouchsafe  me  that  crown- 
ing blessing  of  fallen  man — must  be  a  true  fireside 
angel,  not  loud  or  voluble  or  self-assertive,  but  a  shel- 
ter to  me  in  a  weary  land ;  one  whose  beneficent 
office  it  shall  be  to  unbend  the  long-used  bow,  not  to 
strain  it  into  severer  tension.  Such  are  the  wives  for 
whom  men  arc  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives — who  are 
most  fondly  cherished  and  most  bitterly  mourned. 
The  queens  of  society  are  lamented  by  society  at 
large,  after  the  world's  style  of  regret.  They  have 
lived  for  the  circle  outlying  the  sphere  of  home-loves 
and  joys  and  griefs;  and  verily  I  say  unto  you  they 
have  their  reward — such  as  will  never  be  yours,  pure 
and  tender  spirit." 

He  had  never  seen  or  conversed  in  propria  persona; 
with  three  brilliant  women  in  his  life,  or  with  one 
queen  of  society,  but  he  had  heard  and  read  of  such 
beings,  and  nobody  who  listened  to  his  discourse 
upon  the  topic  could  have  guessed  at  his  inexperience. 

Certainly  Lois  Grant  did  not.  Sincere  and  unpre- 
tending in  nature  and  conduct,  she  was  ever  slow  to 
detect  affectation  in  another.  She  took  David  Rod- 
man at  his  own  valuation,  so  far  as  talent  and  aim 
were  concerned,  and  had  already  begun  to  concert 
schemes  in  her  mind  for  his  happiness  and  advance, 
ment.  Up  to  to-night  she  had  believed  that  she 
thought  of  and  planned  for  him  as  one  friend  might 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  265 

for  another  of  the  same  sex.  She  had  never  had  an 
acknowledged  suitor,  and,  stranger  still,  never  fancied 
herself  in  love.  Existence  had  been  a  very  practical 
affair  with  her,  and  a  very  grave  one.  A  prisoner 
from  her  fifteenth  year  to  the  couch  or  easy  chair  of 
her  sick  aunt,  she  had  learned  in  the  wearisome  ser- 
vice lessons  of  patience,  humility,  and  self-sacrifice 
which  should  have  been  of  signal  advantage  to  her  in 
after  life,  so  hardly  were  they  acquired.  She  had  no 
leisure  for  girlish  follies  and  pastimes — little  tempta- 
tion to  girlish  dreaming.  But  for  her  large,  affec- 
tionate heart  and  exhaustless  store  of  quiet  energy, 
she  would  have  degenerated  into  a  misanthropic 
grumbler  or  mindless  automaton  before  she  was 
twenty-five.  She  never  questioned  the  justice  of  the 
assertion  often  repeated  in  her  hearing,  to  wit,  that 
she  owed  all  the  duty  she  could  pay  her  aunt,  as  a 
recompense  for  her  guardianship  of  a  penniless  orphan. 
When  the  invalid  querulously  threatened  her  with  dis- 
inheritance for  some  trifling  fault  or  blunder,  she 
received  the  rebuke  in  silence  or  with  a  mild  dis- 
claimer of  any  unworthy  motive  in  the  services  she 
rendered. 

"  You  have  done  more  for  me  already  than  I  had  a 
right  to  expect,"  she  would  say  in  grateful  truthful- 
ness, the  genuineness  of  which  even  the  captious 
censor  could  not  dispute.  "  I  have  never  imagined 
that  I  was  to  become  your  heiress,  that  your  death 
would  make  me  any  richer  than  I  am  now.  It  would 
be  an  unreasonable  as  well  as  an  unfounded  antici- 
pation, since  you  have  other  relatives  as  near  akin  to 
you  as  I  am." 

12 


266  Lo is  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

Others  thought  the  same.  Miss  Grant  was  known 
to  be  eccentric,  and  while  the  amount  of  her  fortune 
was  generally  understated,  the  popular  impression 
was  that  no  private  individual  would  get  more  than 
a  moiety  of  it.  She  professed  to  be  fond  of  public 
charities;  gave  liberally  to  them  while  living,  and  re- 
peatedly alluded  to  her  design  of  endowing  an  "  Old 
Ladies'  Home,"  or  a  "  Woman's  Hospital."  Her 
behavior  to  her  dependent  ward  strengthened  those 
who  knew  them  in  the  belief  that  she  would  have  to 
provide  for  her  own  support  after  the  guardian's  de- 
mise. 

When  Lois  the  younger  had  passed  her  twenty- 
ninth  birthday,  the  sick  woman  died,  leaving  her 
niece  and  namesake  her  sole  legatee,  and  to  an  estate 
so  handsome  that  enterprising  bachelors  and  consoled 
widowers,  who  had  not  esteemed  it  an  "  object  "  to 
notice  the  poor  relation,  began  to  rub  their  eyes  and 
their  wits  in  profound  consideration  of  the  most  fea- 
sible and  least  awkward  method  of  teaching  her  for- 
getfulness  of  their  previous  neglect.  Before  they  had 
fairly  decided  upon  the  manner  of  their  siege,  she  dis- 
appeared— buried  herself  in  the  country,  leaving 
the  direction  of  her  retreat  a  profound  mystery. 
Such  palpable  cupidity  was  too  much  for  her  gen- 
tle charity,  and  her  upright  disposition  revolted  at 
their  late  and  eager  sycophancy.  Partly  to  escape 
their  persecution,  partly  to  recruit  her  strength  after 
her  recent  trial,  and  the  tedious  season  of  watchful- 
ness that  preceded  it,  she  sent  off  her  letter  to  Mrs. 
Bracy,  and  followed  it  two  days  afterward.  She  was 
safe  here  from  fortune-hunters  and  holiday  friends, 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  267 

since  she  was  careful  not  to  inform  her  hostess  of  the 
alteration  in  her  circumstances,  and  not  another  soul 
in  the  township  had  ever  heard  of  her  prior  to  her 
appearance  at  the  hill  farm.  So  well  did  she  keep 
her  secret  that  the  rumor  of  her  good  fortune  had  not 
been  bruited  in  the  household.  She  passed  among 
the  inmates  of  the  homestead  as  a  sweet-tempered, 
social  little  woman,  verging  upon  old-maidism,  ex- 
quisitely neat  in  her  person  and  habits,  and  with  a 
marvellous  deal  of  "  faculty  "  in  domestic  affairs. 
From  certain  things  that  had  escaped  Rodman  in 
their  confidential  talks,  she  knew  that  he  deemed  her 
almost  as  poor  as  himself,  and  that  the  simplicity  of 
her  dress  and  unostentatious  behavior  had  wrought 
in  Mrs.  Bracy's  mind  the  like  conviction.  This  was 
as  she  would  have  had  it.  She  would  be  loved  and 
esteemed  for  intrinsic  merit,  or  live  unloved  and  un- 
noticed. She  actually  gloried  in  the  consciousness 
that  Mr.  Rodman's  liking  for  her  and  his  unfeigned 
desire  to  possess  her  esteem  and  confidence  were  her 
honest  gains.  She  suited  him  in  many  respects  and 
won  daily  upon  his  regard.  She  had  dared  whisper 
as  much  to  herself  before,  but  this  evening  he  had 
said  it. 

David,  seated  at  his  ease,  his  back  against  a  column 
of  the  piazza  in  a  position  that  gave  him  a  full  view 
of  her,  observed  that  her  plain  features  were  softened 
by  the  moonbeams  into  a  nearer  approach  to  come- 
liness than  he  had  believed  possible.  Her  small 
hands  played  nervously  with  her  bouquet,  her  white 
dress  flowed  over  the  steps  in  graceful  folds,  and  the 
honeysuckled  doorway  framed  the  picture.  "  A  neat 


268  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

crayon  sketch,"  he  reflected,  critically.  "  But  one 
that  could  not  be  worked  up  in  colors  without  spoil- 
ing the  effect." 

He  found  the  situation  agreeable — verging  upon 
the  fascinating — the  more  inviting  since  his  oppor- 
tunities of  love-making  were  exceedingly  rare  no\v-a- 
days.  In  college  he  had  achieved  quite  a  flattering 
reputation  as  a  promising  amateur  in  that  line  of  in- 
nocent amusement,  but  the  bouncing  damsels  of 
Berkeley  were  not  available  for  flirtation  according 
to  his  fastidious  notions.  The  hands  he  pressed  must 
be  shapely,  and  not  hardened  by  sweeping  and  but- 
ter-making ;  the  tongue  that  faltered  the  responses  to 
his  fervent  periods  must  not  trip  in  grammar,  nor  be 
apt  in  provincial  slang.  He  did  not  long  to  kiss  lips 
that  were  freely  and  laughingly  held  up  to  meet  his. 
The  flavor  of  such  a  courtship  would  be — to  use  his 
figure — too  strong  for  his  palate.  For  he  could  never 
forget  that  he  was  a  gentleman — by  a  freak  of  nature, 
if  you  will,  since  his  birth  and  breeding  were  assuredly 
not  aristocratic,  but  nevertheless  a  gentleman — and 
he  cultivated  an  originally  nice  taste  into  squeam- 
ishness,  lest  he  should  forfeit,  in  the  minutest  par- 
ticular, his  title  to  the  character.  As  I  have  said,  he 
really  liked  Lois.  If  she  were  not  irresistibly  at- 
tractive, she  pleased  him  generally,  and  his  self-love 
was  fed  by  her  respectful  admiration  for  himself.  As 
he  pondered  upon  this  last  and  very  strong  point,  the 
tone  of  his  fraternal  affection  grew  warmer.  Had  she 
been  younger,  many  degrees  handsomer,  more  clever 
and  witty,  and  very  many  thousands  richer  than  she 
was — poor  little  thing  !  he  could  have  loved  her  with- 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  269 

out  an  effort.  As  it  was — what  harm  could  come 
from  letting  her  know  how  elevated  was  her  stand 
in  his  imperial  estimation  ?  It  would  make  her  hap- 
pier, be  quite  an  event  in  her  sober,  monotonous 
history, — and  his  mood  waxed  benevolent. 

She  did  not  lift  her  face,  indeed  it  sank  further  into 
shadow  as  he  took  her  trembling  fingers  into  his.  "  I 
wish  I  dared  tell  you  how  much  I  think  of  you,  Lois. 
You  will  let  me  call  you  that,  will  you  not  ?  I  seem  to 
have  known  and  loved  you  so  long,  years  upon  years. 
I  hate  to  be  reminded  by  that  formal  '  miss '  how  new 
is  our  real  intimacy.  May  I  leave  it  off  when  there  is 
no  one  by  to  take  me  to  task  for  my  familiarity  ?  " 

"Yes." 

He  stooped  lower  than  was  needful  to  catch  the 
monosyllable.  "  Lois,  Lois,"  he  repeated,  in  the  most 
musical  of  his  always  rich  tones.  "  It  is  a  sweet  name. 
I  wish  mine  was  more  worthy  of  your  lips.  But  you 
will  say  it  for  me  once,  just  to  let  me  hear  if  it  can  ever 
be  made  tolerable,  won't  you  ?  Say  it  after  me,  like  a 
good,  obedient  child — David." 

She  obeyed,  laughing  now  in  a  sort  of  troubled  yet 
joyous  way  that  should  have  warned  him  not  to  go 
on. 

It  is  not  in  all,  perhaps,  not  in  most  men,  to  be 
generous  at  this  stage  of  mock  or  real  wooing,  and 
generosity  was  not  upon  the  list  of  David's  weaknesses. 
Knowing,  as  he  began  to  do,  that  Lois's  reception  of 
his  advances  was  earnest,  however  sportive  might  be 
his  humor,  gallantry  and  vanity  combined  to  push  him 
further. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  murmured.     "  I  am  too  well  sat- 


270  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

isfied  with  the  result  of  the  experiment  ever  to  let 
you  relapse  into  bad  habits.  We  are  David  and  Lois 
to  one  another  henceforward ;  at  any  rate  while  you 
stay  here.  Afterward  you  will  forget  me." 

"  Do  not  believe  it.  But  you  cannot."  She  turned 
quickly,  and  the  moonlight  glanced  upon  the  dew  on 
her  eyelashes.  "  You  should  know  me  better  than  to 
accuse  me  of  such  fickleness.  I  shall  always  remem- 
ber my  visit  here  as  the  happiest  time  of  my  life." 

"  Faithful  and  true,"  said  David,  as  if  thinking  aloud. 
"  There  are  few  of  whom  that  can  be  said.  I  do  be- 
lieve you  could  be  both,  Lois.  Faithful  to  friend, 
true  to  lover."  And,  incited  to  madder  folly  by  the 
averted  face  and  the  quiver  that  ran  over  her,  he 
added:  "Which  may  I  be,  Lois?" 

There  was  no  immediate  reply,  and,  still  holding 
her  hand,  he  began  to  sing,  not  loudly,  but  in  full, 
mellow  tones  and  with  marked  expression : — 

"  '  I  come  to  thee  in  friendship's  name, 

Thou  sayest  I  speak  too  coldly ; 
I  breathe  of  love's  devoted  flame, 
Thou  sayest  I  talk  too  boldly. 

Which  shall  it  be,  love? 
How  shall  I  woo  ? 
Dear  one,  choose  between  the  two."' 

Unversed  though  she  was  in  the  guile  of  the  world 
and  the  deceitfulness  of  men's  tongues,  something 
within  Lois's  deep  heart  told  her  that  this  was  not  the 
language  of  earnest,  manly  affection,  that  the  honest 
attachment  of  a  real  suitor  would  hardly  seek  an  out- 
let in  trolling  so  light  a  lay. 

"  Now,  you  are  jesting  with  me,"  she  exclaimed, 
striving  to  withdraw  her  hand. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  271 

Her  voice  bespoke  wounded  feeling  and  alarmed 
pride.  If  the  interview  were  terminated  thus,  all 
thought  of  friendship  was  at  an  end.  In  his  anxiety 
to  soothe  her  indignation  and  quell  her  fears,  David 
stayed  her  when  she  would  have  risen.  "  Is  this  kind 
to  me?  is  it  just  to  yourself,  Lois?  To  you,  whom 
I  respect  more  than  I  do  any  other  woman  upon 
earth?  If  my  presumption  has  offended  you,  do  not 
charge  me  with  the  more  grievous  sin  of  trifling  with 
regard  to  my  feelings  for  you." 

"  Do  not  say  presumption  !  That  sounds  still  more 
like  mockery,"  she  interposed  warmly.  "Any  woman, 
however  beautiful  and  gifted,  would  be  honored  by 
your  preference." 

He  raised  her  hands  to  his  lips  in  an  ecstasy  of 
gratitude.  "Noble  girl!  blessed  comforter!  Yet, 
Lois,  would  it  not  be  the  wildest,  wickedest  infatu- 
ation in  me  to  talk  to  you,  or  to  any  woman,  of  a 
warmer  sentiment  than  Platonic  love — brotherly  re- 
gard ?  Years  must  pass  before  I  dare  cherish  the 
hope  of  having  a  home  of  my  own ;  such  a  dear,  cosy 
nest  as  you  would  make  of  the  lowliest  cottage,  dear 
Lois.  I  have  said  much  within  the  past  hour  which 
honor  and  expediency  should  have  withheld  me  from 
uttering.  Call  it  random  raving,  boyish  badinage, — 
anything  you  like.  Only  forget  it  and  never  fear  lest 
your  true  friend  and  brother  should  again  offend  you. 
You  will  still  be  my  sister,  won't  you  ?  " 

He  was  getting  earnest  in  his  retractation,  for  her 
serious  eyes  were  reading  his  with  a  meaning  that 
made  him  restless. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  said  slowly,  and  with  an  evi- 


272  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

dent  effort,  "  that  you  are  too  poor  to  think  of  the 
home  you  speak  of ;  that  this  is  all  which  holds  you 
back  from  hoping  for  it  ?  '; 

"  All !  "  echoed  David.  "  Is  not  that  enough  ?  But 
what  can  a  woman  know  of  poverty ;  the  sternest  foe 
to  human  happiness,  uncompromising  and  invincible  ?  " 
tragically.  "  It  has  written  a  black  '  Impossible '  upon 
the  gate  of  the  earthly  Eden  I  covet.  But  for  this — 
but  I  promised  to  say  no  more.  Do  not  think  me 
weak  and  unmanly  because  I  sometimes  quarrel  aloud 
with  Destiny.  It  would  be  criminal  selfishness  in  me 
to  ask  a  woman,  tender  and  delicate,  accustomed  to 
refined  society  and  a  luxurious  home,  to  share  the 
hardships  of  my  lot.  It  would  be  suicidal  in  her  to 
accept  such  an  offer." 

"  And  this  is  all?  "  reiterated  Lois,  still  gazing  into 
his  eyes,  her  own  expressive  of  a  strange  excitement 
he  could  not  interpret. 

He  turned  from  her  with  a  pettish  gesture.  "  What 
more  can  I  say  to  convince  you  that  I  have  given  a 
truthful,  if  a  mortifying  statement  of  my  position  ? 
Why  do  you  torment  me  by  useless  questions?  Con- 
fessions of  this  kind  are  not  favorable  to  the  growth 
of  a  man's  self-respect.  What  cannot  be  helped  must 
be  borne,  and  I  am  not  a  craven  to  be  forever  whin- 
ing." 

He  had  relinquished  her  hand,  almost  tossed  it  away 
in  what  he  was  resolved  should  be  a  peremptory  dis- 
missal of  the  theme.  The  sport  had  become  tiresomely 
serious  ;  the  scrape  was  tightening  into  a  complication. 
Yet  common  civility  forbade  him  to  shake  off  the 
light  touch  that  stole  up  to  his  shoulder. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  273 

"  Forgive  me,  David.  But  I  had  a  reason,  an  im- 
portant one,  for  pressing  the  inquiry.  You  see — you 
must  know — don't  be  offended  if  I  seem  to  speak  too 
openly.  So  much  depends  upon  it.  I  am  rich  enough 
for  us  both,"  said  Lois  Grant. 

Then  hid  her  face  in  her  lap  in  an  agony  of  love 
and  bashfulness. 

12* 


PART    II. 

"YOU  will  be  sure  to  bring  Mr.  Rodman?" 

"  If  he  has  no  other  engagement,  and  if  he  will  come. 
I  can  promise  nothing  more  definite,"  answered  Lois 
Grant,  smiling  and  blushing. 

She  had  not  yet  learned  to  hear  allusions  to  her 
betrothal  and  supposed  influence  over  her  lover  with- 
out embarrassment,  although  they  had  now  been  en- 
gaged half  a  year  and  the  relation  between  them  been 
acknowledged  from  the  beginning. 

"Oh!  he  will  come,  if  you  will  but  tell  him  how 
disconsolate  I  shall  be  in  the  event  of  his  absence.  I 
met  him  last  week  at  Mrs.  Price's,  the  evening  he  was 
off  duty  in  consequence  of  your  sore  throat.  I  had 
never  seen  him  quite  untrammelled  before.  To  con- 
sole him  for  your  absence  I  quite  devoted  myself  to 
him  and  he — well — it  does  not  become  me  to  say  more 
than  that  he  appeared  to  be  resigned.  He  has  an  envi- 
able knack  of  masking  his  emotions,  if  he  was  not.  If 
I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  grant  him  too  much  freedom. 
He  is  far  too  fascinating  to  be  trusted  out  of  sight." 

"  I  can  trust  him,"  replied  Lois.  "  That  is  " — as  the 
visitor  laughed — "  he  is  quite  able  to  take  care  of  him- 
self." 

"  Maybe  so.     My  advice  is  sound,  notwithstanding. 
What  a  splendid  specimen  of  a  man  he  is!     And  how 
274 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  275 

strange  it  seems  that  you  should  be  playing  showman 
to  the  lion.  You,  quiet,  demure,  prudish  little  Lois, 
who  used  to  be  accounted  merely  an  inoffensive,  pious 
nonenity.  Now,  you  are  an  heiress  and  engaged  to  a 
brilliant  young  lawyer  who  promises  to  be  the  rage  of 
the  season.  But  time  and — money  work  wortdrous 
changes.  I  am  fast  learning  not  to  be  surprised  at 
anything.  You  won't  fail  me  on  Thursday  evening? 
I  know  you  are  not  music  mad,  and  I  don't  suppose 
you  would  appear  in  a  tableau  if  I  were  to  ask  you  ; 
but  your  superb  knight  professes  to  admire  my  singing 
and  thereby  shows  his  taste  for  the  divine  art,  and  I 
must  have  him  for  a  partner  in  that  scene  of  the  '  Sur- 
prised Lovers.'  If  you  come  without  him  or  both  of 
you  stay  away  I  shall  give  out  to  everybody  that  you, 
having  heard  of  our  flirtation  the  other  evening,  are 
afraid  to  subject  him  again  to  the  battery  of  my  eyes. 
I  engage  to  use  them  with  discretion  not  to  damage 
your  prospects,  if  you  will  oblige  me." 

"  I  exact  no  such  pledge,"  said  Lois,  flushing  a  pain- 
ful red.  "  Mr.  Rodman  is  his  own  master  and  need 
not  remain  on  duty,  as  you  call  it,  an  hour  longer  than 
he  wishes." 

When  her  guest  had  spoken  her  rattling  adieux,  she 
was  sorry  she  had  been  betrayed  into  the  exhibition 
of  the  slight  flash  of  spirit  evident  in  her  last  remark. 
It  was  never  worth  while  to  mind  what  Christine 
March  said.  She  was  a  spoiled  beauty  and,  many 
people,  including  the  young  lady  herself,  thought  a 
wit.  She  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  considering — or, 
at  any  rate,  speaking  of  all  the  marriageable  gentlemen 
of  her  acquaintance  as  if  they  only  required  encour- 


276  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

agement  from  her  to  become  her  slaves.  She  really 
appeared  to  believe  herself  irresistible  and  mankind 
her  lawful  vassals.  But  these  were  partly  to  blame 
for  this  impression,  reasoned  Lois,  already  beginning 
to  accuse  herself  of  harsh  judgment.  They  surround- 
ed the  belle  wherever  and  whenever  she  made  her  ap- 
pearance abroad  with  assiduous  attention  and  flat- 
teries, and  although  but  twenty-one  years  of  age  she 
had  counted  almost  as  many  offers  of  marriage,  if  she 
and  popular  report  were  to  be  credited.  By  her  own 
sex  she  was  generally  regarded  with  an  unfavorable 
eye.  It  was  not  because  she  so  far  outshone  most  of 
them,  they  said,  that  they  did  not  like  her.  Nor  yet 
because  those  who  might  otherwise  have  languished 
at  their  respective  shrines  passed  them  unconsidered 
by  to  vie  in  doing  her  homage,  but  her  demeanor  to 
ladies  differed  widely  from  the  petty  trickery  of  flat- 
teries, bon  mots,  and  eye-language  she  played  off  upon 
her  corps  of  emulous  attendants.  She  was  arrogant — 
good-humoredly,  so  far  as  demeanor  went,  smiles  be- 
ing at  all  times  more  natural  to  her  face  than  frowns 
— but  her  blunt  and  saucy  assumption  of  superiority 
over  her  plainer  and  less  dashing  mates  was  not  easy 
to  bear.  She  had  a  way  of  leaving  minute  nettles  in 
their  self-love  that  irritated  the  most  amiable  and  un- 
pretending, begetting  sudden  anger  and  often  a  rooted 
aversion  to  her  that  outlasted  the  glow  of  temper. 

Even  right-minded  Lois,  while  she  tried  to  argue 
herself  out  of  her  uncharitable  fit,  wished  she  could 
compromise  with  her  conscience  to  the  extent  of  with- 
holding the  invitation  left  in  her  charge,  yet  acknowl- 
edged that  the  threat,  laughingly  uttered  of  the  con- 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  277 

sequence  of  David's  non-appearance,  insured  the  de- 
livery of  Christine's  message. 

"  It  is  very  provoking  that  one  is  obliged  to  visit 
people  whom  one  does  not  like ;  that  society,  not  in- 
clination, regulates  our  acceptance  of  invitations,"  she 
thought,  with  growing  discontent.  "  I  should  be  far 
happier  at  home,  and  so  would  David,  yet  it  would 
never  do  to  send  a  regret.  I  wish  I  had  held  to  my 
original  resolution  to  decline  attending  large  parties 
until  I  was  out  of  mourning  for  my  poor  aunt.  I 
have  lived  in  a  whirligig  all  winter.  Yet  I  thought  I 
was  acting  for  the  best  when  I  consented  to  go  out." 

Which  meant  for  David  Rodman's  good ;  for  the 
promotion  of  his  interests,  professional  and  social. 
He  had  come  to  the  city  in  the  fall  succeeding  their 
engagement,  and  opened  a  law  office  in  a  busy  and 
fashionable  street.  The  building  in  which  it  was  situ- 
ated belonged  to  Miss  Grant,  and  he  was  soon  known 
as  the  manager  of  the  ample  estate  lately  bequeathed 
to  her;  made  his  maiden  speech  in  court  in  a  suit 
growing  out  of  the  settlement  of  the  same.  He  won 
the  case — a  trifling  matter  in  comparison  with  the  fact 
that  his  conduct  of  it,  his  noble  appearance  and  grace- 
ful oratory,  albeit  the  latter  was  slightly  florid  and 
sophomorical,  were  the  subject  of  complimentary  re- 
mark and  procured  for  him  a  respectable  position 
among  the  active  barristers  of  the  city.  Until  his 
footing  should  be  made  sure — and  with  this  should 
come  the  promise  of  an  income  that  justified  him  in 
the  opinion  of  the  world  in  taking  to  himself  a  wife — 
he  proposed  to  remain  single. 

"  If  I  have  a  favorite  horror,  it  is  lest  I  shall  be  stig- 


278  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

matized  as  a  needy  fortune-hunter,"  he  said,  proudly, 
to  Lois.  "  When  I  wooed  you,  you  are  my  witness 
that  I  supposed  you  to  be  as  poor  as  myself,  did  not 
know  which  of  us  had  the  odd  sixpence.  I  cannot 
endure  that  other  people  should  say  that  my  little 
girl's  chief  recommendation  to  my  preference  was  her 
money.  Let  me  establish,  at  least  a  show  of  inde- 
pendence before  we  are  wedded.  Will  my  Lois  wait 
one  year  for  me  ?  " 

Would  she  ?  She  would  have  lived  as  his  betrothed 
ten  years,  thinking  of,  working  for,  and  manoeuvring  to 
lift  him  toward  the  eminence  she  believed  he  would 
grace  as  no  other  man  had  ever  done,  and  accounted 
herself  his  humble  debtor  in  the  end.  Her  dearest 
privilege  was  that  he  allowed  her  to  aid  him  ;  the  only 
drawback  to  this  boon  the  overstrained  delicacy,  as  she 
deemed  it,  that  hindered  him  from  accepting  anything 
really  valuable  from  her  as  a  gift.  She  would  have 
loaded  him  with  keepsakes,  but  he  showed  his  disfa- 
vor to  this  phase  of  generosity  by  wearing  none  of  the 
jewelry  she  presented,  excepting  a  ring  he  had  taken 
from  her  finger  the  night  of  their  betrothal  and  a  chain 
made  of  her  hair,  and  by  discouraging  inquiries  into 
his  personal  wants.  His  profits  as  her  agent  and  legal 
adviser  were  sufficient,  he  alleged,  to  cover  his  expen- 
ses, and  the  utmost  concession  her  tearful  expostula- 
tions could  win  from  his  Roman  virtue  was  the  promise 
that  he  would  borrow  from  the  funds  intrusted  to  him 
whatever  he  required  to  help  him  in  his  business.  His 
accounts  were  punctually  presented  for  her  inspection, 
and  she  invariably  accepted  them  with  a  very  bad  grace, 
wounded,  despite  her  native  common  sense,  by  a  form 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  279 

which  implied  that  their  interests  were  as  yet  not  iden- 
tical ;  kept  them  a  day  or  two,  and  returned  them 
to  him  without  so  much  as  glancing  at  the  sum  total. 
With  her  notions  of  the  entireness  of  wedded  faith,  each 
in  the  other's  worth,  such  an  act  would  have  been  trea- 
son. David  more  than  suspected  how  the  case  stood, 
and  once  charged  her  with  her  remissness. 

"  Where  is  the  use  of  troubling  my  head  with  those 
long  rows  of  figures,  and  fingering  soiled  receipts  and 
bits  of  incomprehensible  scrip  ?  "  she  returned,  play- 
fully. "  I  always  abhorred  arithmetic  when  at  school. 
The  accounts  are  beautifully  kept  and  look  all  right, 
and  I  am  sure  they  are — am  far  more  positive  than  if 
I  had  examined  for  myself.  It  is  enough  that  you 
say  so." 

"Very  unbusiness-like !"  David  shook  his  head  in  a 
pretence  of  grave  rebuke. 

"  I  dare  say  it  is.  And  yet  I  have  a  guarantee  of 
your  honesty — that  is  what  they  call  it — is  it  not  ?  in 
the  fact  that  you  cannot  cheat  me  without  defrauding 
yourself.  All  that  ever  belonged  to  me  is  yours, 
whether  you  take  it  or  not.  You  cannot  help  yourself." 

The  same  principle  of  self-abnegation  overcame  her 
disinclination  to  enter  gay  society.  Without  spoken 
demur  she  accepted  all  invitations  that  allowed  her  to 
select  her  escort  to  the  scene  of  amusement,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  give  small  but  choice  entertainments 
in  return,  at  which  Mr.  Rodman  after  a  while  grad- 
ually slid  into  the  office  of  master  of  ceremonies.  I 
say  after  a  while,  for  he  was  too  sagacious  to  assume 
honors  until  he  felt  himself  able  to  wear  them  credit- 
ably. It  took  him  an  amazingly  short  time  to  become 


280  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

learned,  not  only  in  the  cardinal  principles,  but  the 
by-laws  of  etiquette.  Commencing  with  the  resolu- 
tion to  allow  nothing  to  shake  his  confidence  in  him- 
self, or  to  surprise  him  into  a  show  of  embarrassment, 
he  gained  all  needful  knowledge  and  skill  in  his  new 
pursuit  by  keen,  stealthy  observation  and  the  fine 
gentlemanly  instinct  of  which  I  have  already  made 
mention.  The  accident  of  slender  hands  and  feet, 
well-turned  and  jointed  limbs  and  a  set  of  classic  fea- 
tures was  an  invaluable  auxiliary  to  him.  If  his 
courtly  manner,  purely  correct  accent  and  thorough 
self-possession  were  a  counterfeit  of  perfect  breeding 
and  high  blood,  it  passed  current  with  the  mass  of 
those  who  were  now  his  associates.  The  cautious  in- 
quiries into  his  antecedents  that  had  hailed  his  debut 
in  the  arena  of  polite  society  were  exchanged  before 
his  trial  season  was  over,  for  whispered  marvel  at  the 
engagement  which  was  the  corner-stone  of  his  success. 
Susceptible  young  ladies  sighed  over  his  "  unfortunate 
entanglement,"  and  shrewd  mammas,  accustomed  to 
ring  and  otherwise  test  each  new  issue  from  Fashion's 
mint,  decided  him  to  be  extremely  eligible  and  were 
sorry  he  had  sacrificed  himself  prematurely.  A  man 
with  his  address,  talents,  appearance  and  prospects, 
might  have  formed  a  more  desirable  alliance  than  with 
insignificant  Lois  Grant,  if  she  had  inherited  the  bulk 
of  her  aunt's  fortune  as  the  price  of  her  years  of  toad- 
eating.  Of  course,  all  were  agreed  in  the  verdict  that 
he  was  going  to  marry  her  for  money,  and  that  alone. 
What  other  earthly  inducement  could  have  urged  him 
to  offer  himself  to  a  woman  so  much  his  senior,  and  so 
destitute  of  beauty  and  accomplishments? 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  281 

Up  to  the  morning  of  Christine  March's  visit  these 
murmurs  had  not  reached  Lois.  Her  happiness  had 
hedged  her  in  as  with  a  wall,  from  suspicion,  misgiv. 
ings,  and  jealousies.  She  saw  that  David  was  admired 
and  sought  after,  and  did  not  wonder  that  he  enjoyed 
the  distinction  he  had  already  achieved  ;  was  far  more 
proud  of  it  than  he  could  be— and  of  him.  In  her 
eyes  he  was  a  prince  among  his  fellows  for  beauty, 
goodness,  and  mental  endowments — a  stainless  and 
incorruptible  knight  in  honor  and  integrity,  and 
in  the  constancy  of  his  affection  for  herself.  It 
was  still  passing  strange  that  he  should  have  learned 
to  love  her,  but  since  he  had  told  her  that  his  heart 
was  hers,  that  she  of  all  living  beings  could  make  him 
most  happy,  she  incorporated  the  belief  into  her  creed 
and  would  have  died  to  defend  it.  She  liked  to  see 
him  meet  other  women's  wiles  with  gracious  courtesy, 
conscious  as  she  was  that  he  was  hers — hers  alone. 
She  cared  less  than  nothing  for  gay  company  for  her 
own  sake.  It  was  too  late  for  her  to  form  a  taste  for 
it,  had  not  her  engagement  put  all  thoughts  of  other 
lovers  and  possible  conquests  out  of  her  loyal  single 
mind.  She  dressed  well  in  her  modest  second  mourn- 
ing because  David  liked  to  see  her  richly  arrayed,  and 
he  was  rapidly  and  studiously  becoming  a  connoisseur 
in  ladies'  toilets.  She  refurnished  her  aunt's  spacious 
house  under  the  guidance  of  his  taste,  for  it  would  be 
his  ere  long,  and  handsome,  stately  appointments  be- 
fitted him  as  chaste  and  costly  settings  do  diamonds. 
In  whatever  position  he  appeared  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, it  was  her  delight  to  see  him.  In  other  respects 
also  he  found  her  the  least  exacting  of  fiancees — 


282  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

sweetly  credulous  to  the  pleas  of  important  business 
that  now  more  frequently  than  of  yore  detained  him 
from  her  side  at  such  hours  as  she  expected  him  ;  ever 
ready  with  a  cordial  welcome  when  he  did  come,  and 
the  rather  anxious  that  he  should  be  comfortable  and 
happy  in  her  presence  than  that  he  should  entertain 
her  with  talk,  amusing  or  amatory.  His  love-making 
was  never  very  ardent,  but  having  known  no  other 
she  was  satisfied  with  it.  Judging  him  by  herself,  she 
believed  that  he  did  not  express  one  tithe  of  what  he 
felt ;  gave  to  his  stock-phrases  of  endearment  and 
protestation  a  might  and  richness  of  meaning  that  left 
her  nothing  of  spoken  fondness  to  desire.  Altogether 
she  was  the  best,  most  generous,  and  most  indulgent 
woman  alive,  Rodman  averred,  with  sincere  warmth, 
that  sent  a  happy  flutter  through  her  whole  being, 
and  he  would  be  an  ungrateful  wretch  ever  to  cost 
her  a  sigh  or  a  regret.  In  fact  he  was  not  half  good 
enough  for  her — and  here  Lois  would  arrest  him  with 
blissful  stammerings  of  denial. 

He  meant  to  be  very  true,  very  considerate  of  her 
happiness,  to  take  excellent  care  of  her  means,  and 
for  himself  to  be  reconciled  to  the  fortune  the  Fates 
had  allotted  him.  He  might  have  fared  much  worse 
at  their  hands  matrimonially.  A  penniless  beauty  or 
a  wealthy  virago  would  be  an  evil  exchange  for  his 
demure,  low-voiced,  gentle-tempered  Lois.  A  man 
could  not  look  for  absolute  perfection  in  wife  or  des- 
tiny, and  he  was  forced  to  confess  that  her  drawbacks 
were  mostly  of  a  negative  character. 

He  spent  the  entire  evening  with  her  on  the  day  of 
Christine  March's  call.  The  weather  was  stormy,  and 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  283 

in  anticipation  of  his  coming  Lois  had  ordered  a  fire 
to  be  kindled  in  the  library  grate.  The  register  warmed 
the  room  sufficiently,  but  it  was  one  of  David's  fancies 
to  dream  and  talk  over  a  blazing  bed  of  coals,  and  this 
room  was  his  favorite  retreat.  He  had  selected  the 
furniture,  pictures,  and  most  of  the  books  that  filled 
the  shelves  let  into  the  wall  between  the  long  French 
windows.  Here  were  his  arm-chair,  writing-desk,  foot- 
rest  and  cigar-holder.  Lois  had  resolutely  overcome 
her  antipathy  to  tobacco-smoke,  when  he  resumed  this 
one  of  his  few  college  extravagances.  Had  he  chosen 
he  might  have  scented  the  damask  curtains  of  her  par- 
lors with  the  stale  odor  of  his  choice  weeds,  but  from 
this  his  ideas  of  propriety  revolted.  To  do  him  justice, 
he  would  never  have  brought  a  cigar  into  the  house 
but  for  her  entreaties.  Whatever  tended  to  put  him 
at  his  ease,  to  fill  him  with  a  sense  of  home-comfort 
and  enjoyment,  must  be  done.  He  was  emperor  of 
the  domain  and  of  her  universe. 

He  lay  back  within  the  crimson  depths  of  his  chaise- 
lounge,  his  Habafla  between  his  lips,  gazing  into  the 
fire  in  an  attitude  of  indolent  grace,  his  luxuriant 
beard  rippling  over  the  breast  of  a  black  velvet  smok- 
ing-coat  which  was  always  ready  for  him  in  the  library 
closet — when  Lois  came  down  to  him.  She  carried 
her  work-basket  in  her  hand  ;  her  dress  was  of  gray 
silk,  with  lace  collar  and  undersleeves,  and  her  hair 
arranged  in  the  prevailing  mode.  She  could  never  be 
anything  but  prim,  let  her  bedeck  herself  as  she  would. 
Every  fold  of  drapery,  every  band  of  hair  knew  its 
place  and  kept  it.  Yet  she  was  a  pleasant  if  not  a 
pretty  picture  to  mount  guard  by  a  Sybarite's  fireside. 


284  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

David  appreciated  this  when  he  stooped  to  kiss  her  on 
the  forehead,  with  the  apology — "  I  won't  profane 
your  lips  with  cigar  smoke  !  "  and  held  her  for  an  in- 
stant in  the  curve  of  his  arm  as  he  might  have  em- 
braced his  maiden  aunt  or  married  sister.  There  was 
in  tone  and  action,  however,  a  hearty  recognition  of 
the  truth  that  she  was  good  and  dear  to  him  that 
salved,  for  the  nonce,  the  stinging  of  Christine  March's 
nettle. 

They  did  not  talk  much  or  continuously,  as  is  the 
custom  of  many  absurdly  happy  lovers.  But  Lois's 
needle  and  David's  cigar  helped  to  make  time  pass 
cheerfully  and  without  halting  at  the  long  gaps  in  the 
dialogue. 

"  I  like  this,'  broke  forth  David,  presently,  as  a  dash 
of  sleet  against  the  shutters  was  answered  by  the  defi- 
ant laugh  of  the  fire.  "  It  reminds  me  of  what  the 
author  of  '  Eothen  '  says  about  steeping  his  eyes  in 
the  green  shades  of  Egypt  after  crossing  the  desert." 

"Ah!"  said  Lois,  with  a  pleased  smile.  She  had 
not  an  idea  what  "  Eothen  "  was  or  who  was  the  author, 
but  she  made  out  that  her  prince  was  comfortable,  and 
that  sufficed  for  her  delight.  "  I  am  glad  you  like  to 
be  here.  So  do  I,"  she  added. 

"  It  is  a  very  dear  haunt  to  me,  love.  And  we  have 
been  tiresomely  dissipated  lately  for  such  sober  peo- 
ple." 

"  We  have !  "  returned  Lois,  emphatically.  "  I  am 
sadly  weary  of  it  sometimes.  I  was  just  wondering  if 
we  could  not  send  a  regret  in  reply  to  the  latest  invi- 
tation." Then  she  rehearsed  Christine's  scheme  for  a 
musical  soiree,  to  be  followed  by  tableaux  vivans. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  285 

"  She  says  it  is  to  be  a  small  party,"  she  concluded. 
"  But  she  cannot  well  give  such.  Her  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances is  too  large." 

"  It  is  something  of  a  bore,"  said  David,  languidly. 
"  But  we  must  go,  I  suppose.  Indeed,  Miss  March  in- 
timated to  me  last  week  that  she  had  this  project  in 
her  head,  and  made  me  promise  to  assist  her  in  the 
tableaux  department.  Men  of  a  respectable  stature 
are  at  a  premium  in  town,  she  says." 

She  had  intimated  much  more,  which  good  taste, 
not  modesty,  restrained  him  from  repeating  even  in 
the  present  company.  The  nettle  pricked  Lois  again, 
as  she  divined  this.  Christine  prided  herself  upon  her 
frankness.  She  had  not  let  slip  without  reasonable 
improvement  this  opportunity  of  flattering  one  whose 
good-will  she  wished  to  gain. 

"  She  told  him  he  was  handsome  and  distinguished- 
looking  as  plainly  as  she  talked  to  me  about  my  being 
a  nonentity,"  thought  our  heroine,  her  cheeks  warm- 
ing as  the  cheery  fire  had  not  heated  them. 

"  Do  you  like  her  very  much,  David  ? "  she  asked 
abruptly. 

He  took  his  cigar  from  his  lips  and  blew  away  a  curl 
of  smoke,  his  mouth  relaxing  with  an  indulgent  smile, 
as  it  might  at  a  child's  folly.  "  That  is  a  close  ques- 
tion, and  one  I  am  puzzled  to  answer  while  my  ac- 
quaintanceship with  the  lady  is  so  slight.  She  is  very 
beautiful  in  a  certain  way — very  lively,  and  a  fine  mu- 
sician. I  know  nothing  more  about  her  except  that 
she  seems  to  be  more  admired  than  any  other  lady  in 
her  '  set.'  Did  I  detect  a  greenish  tinge  in  your  dove- 
like  eyes  just  now?" 


286  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

Lois  averted  her  face  over  her  sewing  at  the  teasing 
accent. 

"  Take  heart,  my  dear,"  David  continued,  in  the 
same  tone.  "  When  I  desert  your  colors  it  will  not 
be  to  enlist  under  hers." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  you  as  a  deserter  from  any  right 
and  honorable  position,  David.  I  am  sure  of  your 
fidelity  to  me  as  I  am  of  mine  to  you.  But  Christine 
is  an  inveterate  rattle,  and  she  said  some  foolish  things 
to  me  this  morning  about  you  ;  raved  about  your  at- 
tractiveness, and  so  on.  That  is  all.  I  will  not  think 
of  it  again." 

She  tried  bravely  to  keep  her  word  on  the  night  of 
the  tableaux  party  of  which,  by  Miss  March's  con- 
trivance, David  was  the  star.  He  supported  her  in 
four  out  of  the  eight  scenes,  and  won  the  plaudits  of 
the  fashionable  spectators  in  such  abundant  measure 
that  he  was  called  to  the  front  of  the  curtain  at  the 
close  of  the  performance.  He  led  his  fair  hostess 
into  view,  feigning  to  account  his  own  success  a  sec- 
ondary affair,  bowed  first  to  the  benches  filled  with 
the  elite  of  the  city,  then  more  profoundly  to  her, 
picked  up  the  bouquets  tossed  to  him,  and  presented 
them  to  Miss  March  with  a  generosity  of  gallantry 
that  elicited  fresh  encomiums. 

"  A  magnificent  couple  !"  said  a  gentleman  behind 
Lois.  "  Are  their  love-passages  confined  to  the 
stage  ?  " 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  so,"  replied  a  lady's  voice, 
"  since  he  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  another  lady." 

"  That  would  not  deter  Miss  March  from  at- 
tempting his  conquest  if  she  cared  to  do  it,"  was  the 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  287 

rejoinder.  "  And  her  efforts  in  that  line  of  specu- 
lation are  usually  successful." 

Greatly  to  Lois'  relief  the  lights  were  turned  up  at 
that  moment,  and  the  buzz  of  the  crowd,  as  it  broke 
up  into  knots  for  conversation  and  promenading, 
drowned  what  followed. 

It  was  wickedly  absurd  in  her  to  feel  uneasy  after 
David's  assurances  of  indifference  to  Christine  and 
love  for  herself ;  very  mean  and  dishonorable  in  her 
to  try,  as  she  did,  not  to  lose  sight  of  them  during 
the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  to  torment  herself  with 
conjectures  as  to  what  was  the  purport  of  the  semi- 
confidential  communications  exchanged  when  his  head 
was  bowed  until  the  burnished  waves  of  his  beard 
almost  swept  her  cheeks,  and  her  sparkling  face 
flashed  up  into  his  her  response,  or  upon  what  sub- 
ject Christine  was  expatiating  when  he  laughed  more 
heartily  than  Lois  had  ever  seen  him  do  at  any  other 
witticism  ;  his  eyes,  if  not  his  tongue,  testifying  to 
his  keen  appreciation  of  her  humor.  It  was  not  in- 
nocent fun  on  Christine's  part.  Of  that  Lois  was 
sure.  Her  most  glittering  arrows  were  as  a  rule 
directed  at  the  foibles  and  peculiarities  of  her  ac- 
quaintances. Lois  did  not  blame  David,  but  she 
would  have  been  better  pleased  had  he  met  these 
caustic  or  impertinent  comments  by  rebuke,  not  mer- 
riment. 

A  little  incident  at  supper-time  augmented  her 
discomfort,  and  was  the  prelude  to  a  season  of 
poignant  anguish.  When  the  company  was  sum- 
moned to  the  supper-room,  Lois  was  separated 
from  her  betrothed  by  the  length  of  both  parlors, 


288  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

and  Miss  March  leaned  upon  his  arm.  I  use  the 
word  advisedly.  There  was  an  appealing  weight  in 
her  snowy  hand  and  the  slight  droop  of  her  pliant 
figure  toward  her  attendant  which  the  one  occupying 
that  position  declared  to  be  irresistibly  engaging,  and 
the  women  protested  was  disgusting.  She  did  not 
weaken  her  hold  upon  David  as  the  others  fell  into 
the  line  of  march,  although  she  could  not  but  observe 
his  involuntary  movement  to  release  her,  and  the 
troubled  look  he  sent  through  the  rooms  in  quest  of 
Lois.  Before  he  quite  comprehended  what  he  was 
doing,  they  had  passed  into  the  hall  and  across  the 
threshold  of  the  apartment  in  which  the  table  was 
laid.  Then  he  sought  again  and  vainly  in  the  mass  of 
faces  encompassing  him  for  that  of  his  affianced,  his 
conscience  clamoring  loudly  and  reproachfully  of  his 
cowardly  neglect  of  her  to  whom  his  first  duty  be- 
longed. 

"  How  thoughtless  I  am !  Can  you  ever  forgive 
me?"  exclaimed  Christine,  withdrawing  her  hand 
from  its  support,  and  looking  prettier  than  ever  in  her 
show  of  penitent  consternation.  "  Of  course  you 
ought  to  be  taking  care  of  Lois — poor,  dear  little 
mouse !  Don't  let  me  detain  you  one  second.  I 
would  not  have  let  you  wait  upon  me — I  mean  would 
not  have  chosen  my  escort  anywhere  except  in  my  own 
house.  But  I  thought  I  might  please  myself — might 
take  the  liberty  here.  How  cruelly  inhospitable  she 
will  think  me.  Somebody  else  has  doubtless  brought 
her  in  by  this  time,  and  she  will  never  forgive  me  for 
detaining  you.  And  you,  too,  are  displeased — think 
me  unkind." 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  289 

"  I  do  not !  My  place  is  where  I  would  have  it — 
here  !  "  returned  David.  "  As  you  say,  Miss  Grant 
must  be  provided  with  an  escort  before  now." 

"  You  see,"  the  witch  went  on,  granting  him  the 
full  benefit  of  her  dangerous  eyes,  "  I  cannot  remem- 
ber that  you  don't  belong  to  yourself.  You  act,  and 
look,  and  talk  so  little  like  an  engaged  man.  They 
are  as  a  class  insufferably  stupid.  And  it  seems 
especially  odd  to  me  that  you  should  be  Lois'  prop- 
erty. I  have  known  her  ever  and  ever  so  many  years, 
you  must  know.  She  was  one  of  the  big  girls  at 
Madame  Le  Brien's  when  I  was  in  the  ABC  class. 
Such  a  precise  doll  as  she  was  even  then  with  her 
aunt's  dresses  made  over  for  her.  She  was  like  a 
woman  of  forty-five  cut  down  a  foot  or  two.  She 
was  the  '  goody  ?  of  the  establishment — reported  all 
the  naughty  tricks  of  us  wild  ones,  and  never  got  a 
bad  mark  herself,  or  did  anything  that  was  not  accord- 
ing to  rule  and  compass.  She  had  a  hard  life  of  it 
with  that  cross,  stingy  old  Miss  Grant.  I  used  to 
pity  her  for  having  to  play  propriety  all  the  time. 
But  she  has  kept  it  up  very  creditably,  and  all  is 
bright  ahead  of  her  now.  She  ought  to  be  very 
happy,  and  I  suppose  deserves  her  good  fortune  more 
than  wicked  I  do,"  with  an  abstracted  look  and  stifled 
sigh.  Then  starting  and  recovering  herself  with  a 
forced  smile,  "  Some  day — when  we  know  one  another 
better — and  if  she  do  not  forbid  it,  you  must  tell  me 
all  about  your  romance ;  where  you  picked  her  up 
last  summer,  and  how  it  all  came  about  and  so  forth. 
I  can  be  sentimental  and  sympathizing,  although  you 
do  think  me  an  empty-headed  and  light-hearted  chat- 
13 


290  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

terbox.  And  excuse  me  for  saying  it  " — the  battery 
in  active  play  again,  and  doing  wonderful  things — • 
"  but  everybody  will  have  it  that  there  is  some  mys- 
tery about  your  engagement,  and  as  I  remarked  you 
are  so  dissimilar,  you  might  be  natives  of  different 
spheres.  The  law  of  contrariety,  not  of  counterparts, 
drew  you  together  I  am  sure." 

"  I  never  considered  you  empty-headed  or  shallow- 
hearted."  David  seized  upon  this  clause  as  the  easiest 
to  answer.  "  As  for  the  flattering  situation  assigned 
me  by  Rumor,  I  can  only  say  that  the  voluble  dame 
has,  as  is  her  custom,  taken  too  much  for  granted." 

It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  a  denial  of  his  en- 
gagement he  had  ever  made,  and  the  wily  coquette 
asked  for  the  present  nothing  more  explicit. 

Lois,  meanwhile,  having  declined  the  only  offer  of 
attendance  made  her  with  a  polite  "Thank  you,  but  I 
believe  I  have  an  engagement,"  had  seen  the  entire 
company  file  into  the  supper-room,  until,  to  her 
amazement  and  chagrin,  she  remained  the  solitary 
occupant  of  great  parlors.  She  waited  five — ten  min- 
utes in  the  forlorn  hope  that  David  would  yet  return 
for  her  and  explain  his  extraordinary  defection,  then, 
attacked  by  the  fear  of  being  discovered  in  her  isola- 
tion by  the  returning  revellers,  she  escaped  to  the 
dressing-room,  and  did  not  reappear  below  until  her 
carriage  was  announced. 

"  I  have  been  extremely  uneasy  about  you,"  began 
David,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed  upon  them. 
"  Were  you  sick  ?  or  what  kept  you  up-stairs  all  the 
evening?  You  vanished  before  supper,  and  not  a 
glimpse  have  I  been  able  to  catch  of  you  since.  If 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  291 

you  were  not  well  you  should  have  sent  me  word  that 
I  might  take  you  home." 

"I  was  not  sick,"  answered  Lois,  faintly  ;  "but  I 
was  very  unhappy,  and — and — I  did  not  suppose  you 
would  miss  me  "- 

"  If  this  is  to  be  your  habit  in  future,  Lois,  I  shall 
not  quit  your  side  for  an  instant,"  interposed  David. 
"  I  wish  you  to  understand  once  for  all  that  whatever 
may  be  my  views  of  the  claims  and  expediencies 
of  society,  and  however  important  to  a  man  situated 
as  I  am,  personal  popularity  may  seem,  these  are  as 
nothing  in  comparison  to  your  peace  of  mind.  If  it 
makes  you  '  very  unhappy '  to  see  me  playing  my 
part — the  part  assigned  me  by  common  civility — in  a 
social  gathering,  I  shall  not  speak  to  another  woman 
beside  yourself  until  marriage  has  made  you  certain 
of  my  allegiance.  This  is  a  new  phase  of  your  char- 
acter." 

Poor  Lois !  The  meek  remonstrances  she  had 
meditated  were  overspread  and  swept  into  nothing- 
ness by  this  loverly  yet  dignified  reprimand.  He  had 
never  had  occasion  to  chide  her  before.  He  should 
never  have  again.  In  tearful  haste  she  implored  him 
to  forgive  her  folly,  and  to  behave  in  time  to  come 
precisely  as  he  had  in  the  past.  He  was  always  kind, 
always  wise ;  who  else  so  judicious  ?  She  was  over- 
joyed at  the  sensation  he  had  created  that  evening. 
She  had  heard  his  praises  on  every  side. 

"  I  am  so  proud  of  you,  dear,  when  I  see  you  so 
courted  and  caressed,"  she  affirmed,  squeezing  his 
hand  in  both  of  hers  when  they  reached  home,  and 
uplifting  a  visage  discolored  by  recent  and  profuse 


292  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

weeping,  and  haggard  from  the  miserable  thoughts 
that  had  been  both  food  and  torment  to  her  mind 
during  her  tedious  waiting  in  the  dressing-room. 

"  Heavens !  she  looks  forty  years  old,"  thought  Da- 
vid, with  a  sick  recoil  of  heart.  And  he  was  what  she 
had  said — what  Christine  March  had  told  him  in  more 
eloquent  language — as  unlike  in  every  respect,  in  mind 
and  person,  to  this  sallow,  diminutive  woman,  who 
was  no  longer  a  girl,  as  if  he  had  been  born  in  another 
world.  The  pang  of  self-pity  was  very  sharp. 

"You  are  not  angry  with  me?"  queried  Lois,  pite- 
ously,  seeing  his  change  of  complexion  and  the  fur- 
row, of  pain  between  his  brows. 

"  Angry  ?  No,  but  very  tired — and  so  are  you.  I 
will  not  keep  you  up  longer.  Good-night ! "  He 
touched  her  cheek  with  cold,  unwilling  lips,  and  hur- 
ried away. 

"  Another  moment  and  I  should  have  suffocated ! " 
he  panted,  in  gaining  the  outer  air.  "  What  an  idiot ! 
what  a  consummate,  measureless  fool  I  have  made  of 
myself !  When  I  think  of  what  might  have  been  and 
of  what  is,  I  could  cut  my  own  throat  with  great 
pleasure." 

Nevertheless,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  next  morn- 
ing not  to  take  a  single  step  toward  the  annulment  of 
his  engagement.  It  was  a  very  safe  investment,  a 
ladder,  staunch  and  permanent.  But  for  the  use  of 
Lois'  money,  he  would  be  utterly  impecunious.  But 
for  the  advantages  derived  from  the  social  rank  of  the 
Grants  as  an  old  and  wealthy  family,  he  would  sink 
into  a  poor  but  daring  adventurer.  Why  borrow 
trouble  ?  He  was  not  to  marry  for  six  months  yet, 


Lois  Gra?itt  and  Her  Reward.  293 

and  in  that  time  some  blessed  turn  of  Fate  might  de- 
lay or  finally  avert  the  catastrophe.  That  «was  the 
name  he  gave  the  sacrifice  of  his  superb  self  upon  the 
altar  of  Mammon.  Reviewing  the  accident  of  his 
plighting  to  Lois,  from  the  point  on  which  he  now 
stood,  he  blamed  her  bitterly  for  her  imposition  upon 
his  youth  and  inexperience.  She  knew  the  world, 
and  could  estimate  more  correctly  than  could  he  what 
would  be  his  value  there.  She  had  caught  at  him 
with  alacrity  that  should  have  opened  his  eyes.  In 
truth  (he  had  never  exactly  said  this  before,  even  to 
himself),  the  proposal  was  virtually  hers.  It  was  her 
fault,  not  his,  that  she  mistook  his  pseudo-wooing  for 
very  earnest.  She  had  under  this, misapprehension 
thrown  herself  and  her  fortune  at  his  head,  and  emi- 
nently convenient  as  was  the  latter,  he  would  gladly 
resign  one-half  of  it  could  he  enjoy  the  remainder  un- 
incumbered  by  the  nominal  mistress  thereof.  But — 
again  mindful  of  the  unphilosophical  and  perilous  na- 
ture of  such  reflections — since  this  might  not  be,  he 
would  accept  the  situation,  and,  unless  a  more  be- 
nignant Destiny  than  that  which  had  conducted  the 
heiress  to  Mrs.  Bracy's  abode  should  interpose  in  his 
behalf,  he  would  bow  his  lordly  neck  to  the  hymeneal 
yoke.  Meanwhile  let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-mor- 
row we  die.  While  he  might  without  sin  toy  with 
edge-tools,  he  would  cultivate  Christine  March. 

He  had  promised  to  call  upon  her  that  evening, 
contrary  as  the  act  was  to  the  custom  of  allowing 
party-givers  a  day  of  rest  in  which  to  recover  from 
their  fatigue. 

"  A  fashion  born  in  the  times  when  our  great  grand- 


294  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

mothers  made  the  good  things  and  washed  up  the 
dishes,"  she  said.  "  Now-a-days  it  is  preposterous 
and  a  bore.  If  you  will  drop  in  after  dark  you  will 
add  another  to  the  long  list  of  your  benevolent  deeds, 
and  find  me  sola.  I  can't  say  as  much  for  other  even- 
ings." 

A  note,  purposely  more  than  usually  affectionate, 
informed  Lois  that  an  imperative  engagement  de- 
tained him  from  her  side;  hoped  she  was  well  and 
entirely  rested,  and  bade  her  look  for  him  the  follow- 
ing afternoon.  He  would  tear  himself  out  of  the  busi- 
ness-net long  enough  to  drive  with  her.  He  had  been 
wretched  all  day  with  the  fear  that  she  was  growing 
paler  and  thinner  of  late,  somewhat  fagged  out  by  late 
hours  and  over  industry.  She  must  recollect  how  im- 
portant her  health  was  to  his  happiness,  and  spare 
herself — indefatigable  little  bee  that  she  was.  He 
signed  himself :  "  Yours,  now  and  forever,  D.  R.," 
sent  off  the  missive  by  his  office-boy,  locked  the  door, 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  sofa  for  a  siesta  that 
should  brighten  up  his  energies  for  the  interview  with 
the  "  imperative  "  beauty. 

She  was  mistress  of  her  art.  He  was  her  only  visitor, 
but  her  toilet  was  a  model  of  elegance,  her  greeting 
warm  and  frank,  and  her  whole  manner  so  winning, 
yet  so  vivacious,  that  he  succumbed  to  the  spell  set 
for  him  before  the  first  five  minutes  of  talk  were  over. 
This  was  not  Christine  as  the  world  knew  her,  but  the 
friend  who  recognized  in  him  affinities  that  were  a 
passport  to  her  heart  and  mind,  and  shamed  not  to 
own  it.  She  sang  by-and-by  at  his  request,  selecting 
a  pathetic  English  ballad  instead  of  the  Italian  bra- 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  295 

vuras  with  which  she  would  have  regaled  a  roomful  of 
company.  David  named  the  second,  and  when  she 
had  melted  his  heart  and  almost  his  eyes  by  her  ex- 
quisite rendering  of  it,  she  warbled  like  a  seraph — or 
a  syren — in  a  gush  of  tender  melancholy  : — 

"  '  Beloved  eye,  beloved  star  ! 

Thou  art  so  near,  and  yet  so  far.'  " 

David  was  a  slave  from  the  moment  he  met  her  large 
liquid  eyes  as  the  passionate  refrain  was  poured  from 
her  swan-like  throat,  and,  he  could  have  sworn,  her 
heart.  With  all  his  conceit  of  his  invincibleness  in 
love-tilts,  he  was  the  merest  tyro  compared  with  this 
ingenuous  creature.  She  meant  that  he  should  be 
madly  enamored  of  her,  and  the  surest  means  to  this 
end  being  to  convince  him  that  she  was  captivated  by 
him,  she  scrupled  not  to  seduce  him  into  this  persua- 
sion. He  was  as  vain  as  handsome,  and  cared  not  a 
rush  for  the  woman  he  was  going  to  marry.  Christine 
used  both  levers  adroitly.  Ere  their  prolonged  col- 
loquy was  over,  she  had  elicited  a  mournful  confession 
of  the  unhappiness  none  but  she  had  ever  suspected. 

"A  lifetime  of  disappointment  and  yearning  is  a 
terrible  penalty  to  pay  for  a  boyish  indiscretion,"  he 
said,  darkly. 

"  It  is,"  in  gentlest  commiseration.  "  All  this  is 
nothing  new  to  me.  I  felt  from  the  hour  in  which  we 
first  met  that  my  old  school-fellow,  estimable  as  all 
acknowledged  her  to  be,  was  not  the  chosen  of  your 
soul.  I  dared  to  tell  you  last  night  that  there  was 
some  mystery  in  this  unnatural  connection.  You 
need  not  fear  to  speak  out  freely  to  me  henceforward. 


296  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

It  will  be  a  relief — for  we  understand  each  other,  do 
we  not?  And  isn't  there  a  drop  of  comfort  in  the 
thought  that  there  is  upon  this  cold  unfriendly  earth 
one  spirit  that  responds  to  the  finer  chords  of  your 
own  ?  " 

"  Comfort  ?  It  is  the  boon  of  life  to  him  who  is 
ready  to  perish,"  said  the  infatuated  creature.  "Your 
friendship  is  more  precious  to  me  than  would  be  the 
love  of  any  other  woman." 

He  raved  as  senselessly  in  the  solitude  of  his  cham- 
ber at  an  hour  when  sane  and  honest  people  were  in 
bed  and  virtuously  asleep,  clutching  his  glossy  locks 
with  both  hands,  and  stamping  about  the  floor  in  a 
high  tragedy  frenzy.  "  Sacrificed  !  sacrificed  !  "  he 
spluttered  through  his  grinding  teeth.  "  Bound  to  a 
commonplace  elderly  spinster  whose  fondness  and 
companionship  are  a  weariness,  while  across  the  gulf 
stands  this  angel,  divine  in  a  compassion  which  would 
have  been  love  but  for  this  wretched,  fatal  blunder. 
Was  ever  mortal  at  once  so  blest  and  so  curst?  " 

"  An  easy  conquest,"  smiled  Christine  to  her  image 
in  the  mirror.  "  But  I  have  not  had  another  affair  as 
interesting  in  two  years.  I  must  follow  up  my  ad- 
vantage." 

And  Lois  having  read  her  nightly  chapter  in  the 
Bible  and  prayed  fervently  and  thankfully  for  the 
peace  and  welfare  of  her  darling,  slumbered  tranquilly, 
keeping  fast  hold  of  his  letter  under  the  pillow  with 
the  hand  that  wore  the  betrothal  ring. 


PART   IM. 

UBIQUITOUS  and  omniscient  Everybody  marvelled, 
first  in  corners,  then  upon  the  house-tops,  that  Lois 
Grant,  although  such  a  simple,  amiable  soul,  did  not 
see  and  resent  the  glaring  defection  of  her  lover ;  did 
not  interpose  to  mar  if  she  did  not  prohibit  his  inti- 
macy with  so  notable  a  flirt  and  seductive  a  woman 
as  Christine  March  was  known  to  be. 

His  passion  for  her  v/as,  from  the  hour  of  its  incep- 
tion, positive  fatuity.  All  the  power  and  fervor  of  the 
man's  originally  earnest  nature  were  mingled  in  the 
flood-tide  of  this,  his  first  love.  He  could  not  have 
hidden  it  had  he  desired  and  attempted  concealment. 
Instead  of  this  he  blazoned  his  infidelity  to  his 
plighted  bride  fearlessly  as  though  it  were  his  glory, 
not  his  shame.  So  discreet  was  Lois's  household,  con- 
sisting of  herself,  the  elderly  widow  she  had  elected  to 
the  place  of  companion,  and  the  trained  servants  who 
had  served  her  aunt  before  her — that  Everybody 
could  not  determine  accurately  the  number  and  length 
of  Mr.  Rodman's  visits  to  his  lawful  mistress ;  but  he 
appeared  daily  in  public  at  Christine's  side,  riding, 
walking,  at  dinner-parties,  at  balls,  receptions,  and 
matintes,  until  his  devotion  became  a  proverb.  Saga- 
cious business  men  shook  their  heads  over  the  una- 
voidable neglect  of  his  professional  duties.  No  young 
297  13* 


298  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

man  could  with  impunity  fritter  away  his  time  at  the 
outset  of  his  career.  They  had  given  him  credit  for  a 
better  balanced  mind,  more  just  ideas  for  the  relative 
importance  and  fitness  of  things.  Their  wives  had 
their  say  respecting  the  scandalous  conduct  of  the 
coquette  in  permitting — nay,  courting  his  attendance. 
It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  Mr.  Rodman  was  led  on 
by  her,  beguiled  toward  ruin  without  being  conscious 
how  far  he  had  wandered  from  the  path  of  honor  and 
rectitude.  It  would  be  a  kind  act  of  some  friend  to 
open  his  eyes — to  show  his  enchantress  in  her  true 
form  ;  but  when  it  came  to  that  none  of  the  virtuous 
matrons  felt  herself  called  upon  to  undertake  the  be- 
nevolent office.  They  knew  Christine  too  well,  and 
there  was  hardly  one  of  their  band  who  had  not  at 
some  period  attempted  to  "  take  her  in  hand  "  and 
dropped  her  as  they  would  have  done  a  sentient 
nettle. 

She  kept  her  senses  about  her;  understood  exactly 
where  David  stood.  He  had  not  reached  the  ultima 
tlinlc  of  her  desires.  While  he  kept  up  the  hollow 
show  of  betrothal  to  another,  he  was  not  the  abject 
vassal  she  would  have  him  become.  She  surmised  in 
the  astuteness  of  her  worldly  wisdom  that  financial 
ruin  would  be  the  result  of  an  open  rupture  with  his 
rich  client,  but  so  insatiable  was  her  thirst  for  con- 
quest, so  imperious  her  demand  for  the  homage  of  all 
men  who  approached  her,  that  she  did  not  swerve  from 
her  purpose.  She  was  not  the  fiend  in  angelic  guise 
that  steals  into  so  many  written  romances — beautiful, 
vindictive,  and,  if  need  be,  murderous.  She  was  sim- 
ply heartless  and  inordinately  vain.  Without  hating 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  299 

Lois,  she  meant  to  punish  her  for  being  richer  than 
herself,  and  for  the  quiet  impertinence  of  her  rejoinder 
to  the  belle's  patronizing  pledge  not  to  steal  her  lover 
from  her.  She  needed  to  be  taught  her  place,  which 
was,  in  common  with  all  other  women,  secondary  to 
Miss  March's.  When  this  should  be  accomplished 
the  humble  learner  was  welcome  to  her  Adonis. 
Christine  herself  was  no  salamander  to  live  forever  in 
the  flame  of  such  devotion  as  was  his.  And  he  would 
care  as  much  for  Lois  when  she,  Christine,  had  done 
with  him,  as  he  had  done  before  he  fell  in  love  in 
earnest. 

Mrs.  Miller,  Lois's  widowed  aunt  and  duenna,  once 
sought  an  opportunity  of  expostulating  privately  with 
Mr.  Rodman  upon  his  singular  behavior.  It  was — the 
old  lady  stated  stiffly,  for  she  dearly  loved  her  ill-used 
relative — dishonoring  to  himself  and  cruel  to  her  who 
loved  him  so  truly  and  generously. 

"  She  has  never  complained  of  your  behavior  in  this 
or  any  respect,"  she  was  careful  to  add;  "but  I  can 
see  that  she  suffers  intensely.  I  think  you  do  not 
quite  appreciate  her  capacity  for  loving  or  for  sorrow- 
ing, Mr.  Rodman,  or  you  would  not  impose  this  use- 
less trial  upon  her.  She  has  not  deserved  it  at  your 
hands." 

David  fired  up  angrily.  Two  of  her  shots  had  hit 
him  more  sorely  than  she  suspected.  "  You  are  un- 
fortunate in  your  use  of  terms,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not 
question  Miss  Grant's  fidelity  to  her  plighted  word, 
but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  perceive  any  remarkable  gene- 
rosity in  her  attachment  to  myself.  As  I  look  at  the 
matter,  a  man  is  not  an  applicant  for  charity  when 


300  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

he  sues  for  a  lady's  hand.  Nor  am  I  conscious  of 
having  given  her  occasion  of  complaint  to  her  family 
and  friends.  Excuse  me  for  reminding  you,  Mrs.  Mil- 
ler, that  it  is  her  province — not  theirs — to  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  my  actions  and  motives.  If  she  desires  an 
explanation,  she  has  only  to  ask  for  it  and  it  is  hers." 

The  smart  of  this  repulse  gave  the  chaperone  cour- 
age to  broach  the  subject  of  Lois's  wrongs  to  that 
young  lady  herself.  Hitherto  the  rumors  and  com- 
ments rife  in  society  had  not  been  hinted  at  by  either 
in  their  intercourse  with  one  another.  Mrs.  Miller  could 
not  be  positive  that  they  had  ever  reached  her  niece, 
and  she  touched  the  tender  subject  very  courteously. 

"  I  met  Mr.  August  in  the  street  to-day,  my  dear," 
she  began,  one  evening  when  they  were  alone. 

Lois  was  standing  by  the  window  watching  the 
passers-by,  on  the  lookout,  Mrs.  Miller  knew,  for  one 
figure  which  came  now  less  punctually  and  surely  than 
of  old. 

"Ah  !  how  long  has  he  been  in  town  ?  "  asked  Lois, 
turning  partly  around  and  evidently  interested. 

Mr.  August  had  been  her  aunt's  man  of  business, 
tried  and  trusted  for  many  years.  He  had  petted  her 
as  a  child,  and  often  taken  her  part  after  she  arrived 
at  woman's  estate  against  her  aunt's  peevish  injustice. 
She  liked  and  loved  him,  and  was  disappointed  that 
his  retirement  from  active  life  and  removal  to  the 
country  had  deprived  her  of  his  services  and  counsel. 

"  Two  days,  I  believe.  He  will  call  upon  you  to- 
morrow. He  is  anxious  to  see  you,  for  several  rea- 
sons. The  truth  is  he  is  uneasy  "- 

"About  me  !  "  said  Lois  questioningly,  as  the  other 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  301 

hesitated.  She  spoke  quickly  but  without  surprise 
or  visible  perturbation. 

"Yes.  He  is  the  soul  of  prudence,  you  know." 
Mrs.  Miller  paved  each  step  with  explanations  that 
sounded  deprecatory.  "  He  fears  that  Mr.  Rodman's 
management  of  your  affairs  is  not  altogether  judi- 
cious; questions  the  wisdom  of  certain  investments 
he  has  been  making  in  your  name — I  suppose  by  your 
orders  ?  " 

If  this  clause  were  intended  as  a  probe,  the  experi- 
ment was  unsatisfactory  to  her  who  applied  it.  If 
news  had  been  brought  her  that  David  had  abscond- 
ed with  every  dollar  she  owned,  it  would  not  have 
wrung  from  loyal  Lois  a  syllable  of  censure.  Too 
truthful  to  equivocate  yet  resolute  in  his  defence  she 
answered  mildly  but  firmly,  "  I  sanction  whatever  Mr. 
Rodman  does.  I  do  not  know  to  what  investment 
Mr.  August  refers,  but  I  have  perfect  confidence  in 
Mr.  Rodman's  judgment." 

"  He  has  been  buying  oil  lands  in  your  name,  Mr. 
August  states — lands  which,  by  the  way,  lie  near 
Berkeley,' the  place  in  which  you  spent  last  summer, 
further  back  in  the  mountains  in  a  wild,  uncultivated 
region.  Such  speculations  are  all  the  rage  now,  Mr. 
August  says,  but  he  thinks  this  will  be  succeeded  by 
a  panic.  He  happened  to  hear  what  Mr.  Rodman  had 
done  through  the  agent  of  the  company  owning  the 
bulk  of  these  lands.  You  are  a  large  stockholder,  be- 
sides having  bought  through  your  agent  an  extensive 
tract  which  may  become  immensely  valuable  some 
day,  but  is  more  likely,  in  Mr.  August's  opinion,  to 
prove  almost  worthless." 


302  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

Lois  remained  motionless,  leaning  her  arm  against 
the  sash,  her  forehead  on  her  arm,  and  seeming  still  to 
gaze  intently  into  the  street.  Was  she  hoping  that 
David  would  appear  to  spare  her  the  pain  of  a  reply  ? 

"  I  hope  you  don't  consider  your  old  friend  and 
myself  officious  or  curious  meddlers,  my  love?"  said 
Mrs.  Miller,  uneasy  at  the  long  silence. 

"  No,  madam.  I  know  you  both  have  my  good  at 
heart,"  answered  Lois  without  stirring.  Her  submis- 
sive accent  was  unlooked-for  encouragement. 

"  We  have,  my  child  !  You  are  a  novice  in  business 
matters  and  inclined  to  be  over-trustful  in  other  re- 
spects. Don't  you  think  you  had  better  have  a  plain 
talk  with  Mr.  Rodman  ?  The  straight  path  may  be 
steep,  but  it  is  safest." 

Again  Lois  was  slow  to  reply.  "  It  would  be  use- 
less," she  said  then  in  a  low,  and  Mrs.  Miller  fancied 
desolate  tone.  "  Mr.  Rodman  manages  my  money  as 
he  would  his  own.  It  is  bis — or  will  be,  if  affairs  ter- 
minate as  had  been  proposed  by  us.  If  they  do  not — 
why,  it  makes  no  difference !  " 

She  did  not  say  in  words — "  what  becomes  of  me 
and  my  property,"  but  Mrs.  Miller  guessed  that  the 
sentence  was  thus  finished  in  her  mind,  and  waxed 
warmer  in  her  compassionate  indignation.  "  You  may 
get  angry  if  you  like,  Lois,  but  I  cannot  keep  it  back. 
You  are  too  indulgent,  too  forgiving  to  that  man.  If 
you  really  mean  to  marry  him  it  is  time  the  day  was 
set  and  arrangements  commenced.  And  if  he  intends 
ever  to  become  your  husband,  it  is  contrary  to  com- 
mon decency  for  him  to  be  dancing  all  the  while  in 
Christine  March's  shadow.  He  is  seen  with  her  every- 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  303 

where,  and  is  to  all  appearance  desperately  infatuated 
by  her.  The  whole  community  cries  '  shame '  upon 
them,  for  one  is  as  guilty  as  the  other." 

"  The  community  does  not  know  David  Rodman  as 
I  do,"  began  Lois,  with  an  attempt  at  dignity  that 
failed  her  ere  she  finished  her  little  speech.  "  I  trust 
him,  Aunt  Julia.  Mutual  confidence— perfect  and 
lasting — was  our  compact,  and  I  could  never  look  into 
his  eyes  again  if  I  allowed  idle  or  malicious  rumors  to 
move  me  even  in  thought.  He  says  he  loves  me — is 
true  in  heart,  however  others  may  misconstrue  his 
deeds — and  I  must  believe  him.  Don't  try  to  break 
down  my  faith.  When  I  learn  distrust  of  him,  I  shall 
believe  in  nothing  else — nothing !  "  She  put  out  her 
hand  in  saying  it  in  a  piteous,  unsteady  way,  as  if 
groping  for  some  support  in  darkness,  left  the  window 
and  went  off  to  her  chamber. 

Mrs.  Miller  had  never  liked  David  Rodman,  but 
from  that  night  she  hated  him  as  heartily  as  her  re- 
ligion allowed  her  to  hate  an  enemy.  Her  dislike  was 
the  greater  for  the  spectacle  of  Lois's  blind  pertinacity 
of  trust  in  one  who  the  elder  lady  was  persuaded 
was  playing  her  false  so  far  as  affection  was  concerned, 
if  not  defrauding  her  of  the  wealth  for  which  she  be- 
lieved, with  the  rest  of  the  world, he  had  sought  her. 

Lois,  strong  in  her  knowledge  of  the  groundlessness 
of  this  charge,  was  deaf  to  all  others  against  the  lover 
who  had  wooed  her  before  he  knew  her  to  be  richer 
than  himself.  He  had  loved  her  for  what  she  was,  not 
what  she  had,  she  had  cause  to  remind  herself  contin- 
ually, and  wrought  out  from  this  by  the  sure  rule  of  a 
woman's  logic  the  sequence  that  since  she  was  un- 


304  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reivard. 

changed,  he  must  be  true  to  her  still.  Vacillation  im- 
plied weakness,  and  David  was  strong.  His  fancy 
might  be  allured  by  Christine's  beauty,  and  he  admired 
her  as  he  did  fine  pictures  and  statues.  She  was 
sprightly  and  talkative,  and  he  was  amusing  himself  in 
her  company.  She — Lois — never  amused  anybody, 
was  as  little  of  a  wit  as  a  beauty,  but  she  loved  him 
so  fondly  he  must  come  back  to  her  by  and  by.  She 
would  be  hopeful  and  patient ;  let  him  see  how  com- 
plete was  her  trust,  how  mighty  her  love  until  he 
wearied  of  diversion  and  resumed  his  old  habits. 

She  made  no  inquiry  into  the  truth  of  Mr.  August's 
statement  concerning  the  recent  and  ill-advised  invest- 
ment her  lawyer  had  made.  It  was  more  than  prob- 
able he  had  done  as  the  cautious  old  gentleman  had 
said.  She  had  months  ago  given  him  a  power  of  at- 
torney to  use  her  name  as  he  pleased.  He  had  not 
acted  without  legal  warrant,  although  he  had  not  con- 
sulted her.  Why  should  he  do  this  ?  She  was  the 
stupidest  of  ignoramuses  in  monetary  transactions.  If 
he  had  laid  the  case  before  her  in  all  its  bearings,  she 
would  have  said — "  Do  as  you  think  best,"  whatever 
might  have  been  her  forebodings.  She  was  clever  in 
nothing  except  in  nursing,  needlework  and  cookery; 
but  she  loved  him. 

So  with  regard  to  the  questionable  intimacy  con- 
demned by  the  community — a  sentence  which  had  no 
weight  with  her  except  as  it  impressed  her  with  the 
idea  that  she  ought  to  stand  the  more  stoutly  by  him 
since  others  blamed  him.  She  had  promised  never  to 
annoy  him  again  by  her  childish  jealousy,  and  she 
would  keep  her  word  though  the  green  corrosion  were 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  305 

to  eat  away  her  heart.  Beautiful  and  gifted  women 
could  afford  to  toy  with  and  to  test  their  lovers'  affec- 
tion. The  only  art  she  knew  whereby  to  keep  hers 
constant  was  to  show  him  how  full,  how  fervent,  and 
how  free  was  her  attachment,  to  study  his  wishes  con- 
stantly, and  to  meet  them  whenever  she  could,  esteem- 
ing nothing  arduous  or  an  act  of  self-denial  that  enabled 
her  to  do  this. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Christine  took  it  into 
her  well-made  head  to  be  jealous  of  her  plain  and 
modest  rival.  She  "  did  "  this  phase  of  the  so-called 
tender  passion  as  she  did  everything  else,  thoroughly 
and  bewitchingly.  She  catechized  the  enamored  swain 
as  to  the  number  of  his  visits  to  Lois  per  week,  how 
long  he  stayed,  what  he  said,  and  what  he  thought 
while  there,  when  he  was  going  again,  and  unmasked 
her  battery  finally  by  inquiring  with  naive  earnest- 
ness why  he  went  thither  at  all.  This  was  the  crisis. 
Conscience,  honor,  feminine  delicacy  forbade  her  to 
permit  his  continued  attentions  while  he  was  betrothed 
to  another. 

"We  have  been  dreaming,  I  think,"  she  said  with 
a  wistful,  troubled  smile  that  melted  swiftly  into  a 
mist  of  undropped  tears.  "  People  are  saying  cruel 
things  about  us.  Isn't  it  unaccountable  how  loth 
people  are  to  let  others  be  innocently  happy?  And 
we  have  had  some  sweet,  happy  hours  together  this 
winter,  haven't  we?  But  mamma  is  growing  restless 
under  the  lash  of  the  gossips'  tongues,  and  I  cannot 
defy  her  commands.  I  shall  miss  you  terribly,  and  I 
am  vain  enough  to  think  you  will  sometimes  long  for 
me  when  you  are  satiated  with  respectable  dulness ; 


306  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

but  since  dulness  is  respectable,  and  obedience  to 
parents  a  duty,  we  should  not  shirk  the  performance 
of  it.  I  don't  deny  that  it  is  pleasant,  only  too  delight- 
ful to  have  you  here  as  often  as  you  have  been  of  late  ; 
but  the  question  is,  have  I  a  right  to  this  happiness? 
We  ceased  talking  about  friendship  long  ago,  you  know, 
and  if  we  had  continued  to  cheat  one  another  with  the 
pretty  names  of  brother  and  sister  the  wicked  world 
would  not  believe  us." 

And  when  he  protested,  raved  and  prayed  in  agony 
at  the  bare  prospect  of  banishment,  she  spoke  yet  more 
explicitly.  When  he  was  free  or  when  he  had  told 
Lois  everything,  and  had  her  consent  to  continue  the 
intimacy  she  owned  was  one  of  her  chiefest  sources  of 
earthly  beatitude,  then  and  not  till  then  he  could 
again  appear  in  her  presence.  Otherwise — a  mute  look 
of  anguish,  a  shudder  and  a  burial  of  the  mournful 
face  in  the  lily  hands  completed  the  farewell  to  him 
and  to  hope. 

And  this  was  the  way  in  which  he  told  Lois  every- 
thing:— 

MY  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  I  must  believe  that  you  have  for  some 
time  past  anticipated  the  confession  I  am  now  impelled  to  make  by  feel- 
ings I  cannot  master.  I  have  been  conscious  for  several  months  of  a 
growing  change  in  my  sentiments  toward  yourself.  Esteem  you  I  ever 
must  as  one  whose  rare  excellence  of  character,  amiability  and  gentle- 
ness of  demeanor  so  won  upon  my  regard  in  the  familiar  intercourse  of 
the  comparatively  lonely Jife  I  led  in  Berkeley,  that  I  was  deceived  by 
the  sincerity  of  my  appreciation  of  these  into  the  belief  that  I  loved  you 
as  man  can  love  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  It  is  only  since  I  have  learned 
what  this  love  really  is — how  strong,  how  unconquerable  and  how  ten- 
der— that  I  have  understood  what  a  wrong  would  be  our  union  without 
it.  This  injustice  at  least  I  will  not  do  you.  I  know  you  too  well 
not  to  be  certain  that  you  will  approve  of  my  courage  and  frankness  in 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  307 

owning  to  you  the  mistake  into  which  youthful  impetuosity  and  imma- 
ture judgment  have  led  me,  instead  of  giving  you  a  hand  without  a 
heart  and  perjuring  myself  by  uttering  an  empty  vow  at  the  altar. 
However  harshly  the  world  may  condemn  me,  you,  sweet  saint,  will 
say  :  "  He  obeyed  the  voice  of  conscience  and  of  feeling.  He  wished 
to  spare  me  misery  even  at  the  risk  of  his  own  reputation."  For  I  shall 
be  severely,  unsparingly  censured,  Lois,  when  it  is  known  that  we  are 
once  again  only  dear  friends.  We  ought  never  to  have  called  our- 
selves anything  else.  That  was  the  false  step,  not  this. 

Write  me  but  one  line  to  say  that  you  pardon  me,  and  do  not  cast  me 
off  utterly.  I  shall  always  pray  for  and  love  you  as  the  best  friend 
Heaven  ever  bestowed  upon  one  so  unworthy  as  is  your  faithful  brother, 

DAVID  RODMAN. 

"  Wait  for  an  answer,"  said  the  author  of  the  manly 
epistle  to  the  office-boy,  who  had  carried  so  many 
others  to  the  same  address.  "And  hurry  back;  I  have 
an  engagement." 

This  was  true,  for  within  the  hour  he  stood  in  Chris- 
tine March's  tasteful  morning-room  to  which  none  but 
very  highly-favored  visitors  were  admitted,  and  with- 
out a  word  of  preface  laid  a  scrap  of  paper  upon  the 
desk  at  which  she  was  pretending  to  write  letters.  It 
was  an  open  note,  and  he  retained  the  envelope  while 
she  read : — 

MY  DEAR  MR.  RODMAN  :  You  were  quite  right  to  tell  me  the  truth. 
I  hope  you  may  be  very  happy  with  her  whom  you  have  chosen,  much 
happier  than  you  could  ever  have  been  with  me.  Lois  GRANT. 

Just  three  lines  in  Lois's  clear,  precise  chirography, 
not  an  erasure  or  a  blot,  although  the  office-boy  waited 
but  five  minutes  for  his  answer. 

Christine  scanned  them  intently,  a  puzzled  frown 
knitting  her  finely-pencilled  brows ;  turned  the  sheet 


3o8  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

as  if  hoping  to  find  elucidation  upon  the  other  side, 
then  looked  up,  very  pretty  in  her  bewilderment.  "  I 
don't  understand  it  in  the  least.  Is  it  a  riddle  without 
the  other  part  of  the  correspondence  ?  What  have  you 
told  her  ?  And  whom  does  she  speak  of  as  '  her  whom 
you  have  chosen?'  Isn't  that  too  much  like  Lois's 
quaint  propriety  of  speech?"  laughing  lightly. 

His  stare  of  wonder  was  unfeigned.  "  It  means," 
he  said  when  he  found  his  senses  and  voice,  "  that  I 
am  free  from  the  chain  that  has  fretted  into  my  heart 
from  the  first  moment  I  beheld  you,  my  angel  of  light 
and  mercy — that  I  am  yours,  yours  only  and  forever." 

The  siren  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  adjusted  her 
bracelet  with  a  smile  of  gratified  vanity  and  real 
amusement.  "  Dear  me ! "  she  said  carelessly,  "  I 
shouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  you  if  you  were. 
Did  you  never  hear  of  the  French  lover  who  objected 
to  marrying  the  lady  to  whom  he  had  been  betrothed 
for  fifteen  years  upon  the  plea  that  if  he  did  he  would 
be  at  a  loss  where  to  spend  his  evenings?  Make- 
believe  courtship  is  very  enchanting,  but  I  sha'n't  be 
ready  for  anything  more  solid  and  serious  for  a  cen- 
tury to  come.  And  you  really  took  me  at  my  word 
when  I  went  off  into  heroics  last  night  about  the  law- 
fulness of  our  interesting  game?  I  thought  better  of 
your  sense  and  experience.  Why,  I  have  talked  in 
the  same  strain  to  a  dozen  men  before  and  meant 
nothing  by  it.  I  didn't  dream  you  could  be  so  tire- 
some as  to  believe  me  in  earnest,  or  so  insane  as  to 
break  a  bona  fide  engagement,  acknowledged  too  for 
so  long  and  in  so  many  ways,  with  a  nice  respectable, 
mature  heiress,  who  would  give  you  money  without 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  309 

stint  and  pet  you  to  death  just  because  a  fickle  mad- 
cap like  me,  whose  praise  as  a  veteran  flirt — for  flirta- 
tion's sake — is  in  all  the  ball-rooms,  chose  to  make 
great,  sorrowful  eyes  at  you." 

She  laughed  again — the  merry  peal  David  had  so 
often  likened  to  "  fairy  bells  tinkling  o'er  the  water," 
and  his  brain  spun  around  madly — a  bloody  curtain 
seemed  drawn  before  his  eyes. 

"  Christine,"  he  said  hollowly,  bending  to  the  level 
of  the  fair,  false  face,  "  this  is  not  a  moment  for  jest- 
ing. You  drive  me  to  distraction  by  affecting  to  sport 
with  love  like  mine.  You  know  I  worship  you,  that 
I  exist  only  in  your  smile,  that  the  mere  imagination 
of  losing  you  would  kill  me." 

"  Oh,  no  !  it  wouldn't."  She  shoved  her  seat  further 
back  as  if  annoyed  by  his  proximity.  "  Rational  be- 
ings don't  die  in  that  way.  You  know  better,  or  you 
would  stand  convicted  in  your  own  sight  as  a  murderer 
whenever  you  thought  of  Lois.  And  you  cannot  lose 
what  you  never  possessed.  I  do  not  belong  to  you  or 
to  any  other  man,  thank  goodness !  When  I  near 
the  thirties  I  shall  steal  a  page  out  of  your  book  and 
cast  about  for  some  good,  easy-going,  elderly  million- 
aire, who  will  give  me  a  carriage,  a  footman  in  livery, 
ten  thousand  dollar  diamonds,  and  piles  of  pin-money. 
Why,  my  clear  Mr.  Rodman — that  is  what  Lois  calls 
you,  I  see,  and  it  would  be  naughty  in  me  to  be  more 
familiar — your  income  wouldn't  keep  me  in  gloves  and 
bouquets,  and  you  won't  have  the  handling  of  the 
heiress's  money  if  you  don't  marry  her,  you  know. 
Now  don't  be  uncomfortable  and  profane,"  for  in  his 
frenzy  he  flung  a  curse  at  her  in  turning  away.  "  Real 


310  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

gentlemen  don't  swear  in  a  lady's  hearing.  I  really 
did  not  suppose  you  would  take  it  so  hard.  You  see 
I  have  been  flirting  ever  since  I  was  a  baby.  I  can- 
not help  it,  and  I  honestly  believed  you  an  adept  at 
the  business,  you  helped  me  on  so  nicely;  supposed 
it  was  diamond  cut  diamond  between  us.  The  idea 
that  you  would  actually  throw  Lois  over  for  me  seemed 
too  absurd." 

He  forgot  manliness  with  gentlemanly  instinct  at 
that. 

"  It  is  a  lie  !  "  he  said,  in  a  thick,  coarse  voice,  lay- 
ing a  hard  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  "  A  lie,  and  you 
know  it ! "  With  another  oath,  sounding  and  savage, 
he  strode  from  the  boudoir  and  down  the  stairs,  slam 
ming  the  front  door  after  him. 

Christine  ran  to  the  window  to  get  a  peep  at  him  as 
he  tramped  furiously  down  the  street,  head  bent  and 
fists  clenched.  "  Who  would  have  suspected  him  of 
being  such  a  bear?"  she  said,  half-frightened,  half- 
delighted.  "  I  wonder  how  people  get  up  a  real  pas- 
sion. After  all  it  is  unmistakable  and  far  more  effect- 
ive than  the  finest  acting.  I  suppose  I  shall  not  see 
much  of  him  for  a  while  until  he  cools  down,  or  goes 
back  to  his  sisterly  friend.  '  Her  whom  you  have 
chosen,'  forsooth !  They  seem  to  have  taken  my  con- 
sent for  granted.  He  has  learned  a  lesson  in  humility 
at  any  rate." 

Four  days  went  by,  and  neither  at  rout,  opera  or 
upon  the  public  promenade  did  she  see  her  discarded 
suitor,  and,  what  was  mortifying,  nobody  appeared  to 
have  heard  of  or  guessed  at  his  discomfiture.  Ques- 
tions as  to  his  whereabouts  were  put  to  her,  but  the 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  311 

meaning  smile  accompanying  her  denial  of  all  know- 
ledge of  his  movements,  her  maidenly  wonder  that 
she  should  be  supposed  to  be  cognizant  of  these,  were 
thrown  away  upon  the  dull  or  wilful  inquirers.  The 
thought  that  he  had  committed  suicide  occurred  to 
her  more  than  once  with  a  force  that  terrified  her. 
Yet  there  was  pleasurable  excitement  in  the  thrill,  a 
feeling  even  she  was  ashamed  to  own  to  herself,  that 
the  catastrophe,  when  the  cause  should  be  told,  would 
enhance  her  fame,  as  a  man-killer.  He  had  left  town 
upon  urgent  business,  she  learned  at  length,  and  she 
comforted  herself  for  the  postponement  of  her  public 
triumph  by  the  discovery  that  his  departure  bore  the 
date  of  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  she  had 
dismissed  him  from  her  service. 

On  the  fifth  evening  after  his  disappearance  she  was 
interrupted  while  dressing  for  a  party  by  a  message 
that  "-Miss  Grant  was  in  the  parlor,  and  wanted  to  see 
her  immediately  upon  important  business." 

"  You  should  have  told  her  that  I  am  engaged," 
she  rejoined  sharply.  "  It  is  time  I  was  off  now.  That 
handkerchief,  Jane,  and  turn  the  burner  so  as  to  throw 
the  light  upon  me,  not  the  glass.  My  complexion  is 
fresh  to-night.  What  can  the  woman  want  ?  " 

"  She  says  she  must  see  you,  ma'am,  right  away," 
repeated  the  maid.  "  I  think  there  is  something  the 
matter ;  she  looks  queer-like." 

"  She  always  does,"  smiled  the  beauty,  surveying 
the  image  in  the  mirror  with  undisguised  satisfaction. 
"  But  show  her  up.  And  when  Mr.  Wilson  and  the 
carriage  come,  let  me  know  just  as  if  she  were  not 
here.  She  may  take  the  hint." 


312  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

Lois  entered  with  her  quiet  step,  and  without  other 
token  of  agitation  than  extreme  paleness  and  a  per- 
ceptible sharpening  of  her  features.  "  Thank  you,  I 
have  not  time,"  she  said  briefly  to  Christine's  offer  of 
a  seat.  "  I  had  this  telegram  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
ago.  I  thought  it  should  have  been  sent  to  you 
rather  than  to  me.  So  I  have  brought  it." 

It  was  from  Mrs.  Bracy. 

"  Mr.  Rodman  met  with  an  accident  to-night  in 
crossing  the  ford.  We  fear  his  injiyies  are  fatal." 

"  How  shocking !  "  exclaimed  Christine  nervously, 
and,  for  her,  awkwardly.  "  But  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  bring  this  to  me.  Of  course,  I  am  dreadfully 
concerned  " — 

"  Will  you  go  to  him  ?  "  interrupted  Lois. 

Christine  uttered  a  little  scream.  "  My  dear  crea- 
ture, what  a  notion  !  What  could  I  do  to  help  him  ? 
And  he  was  nothing  to  me  but  a  pleasant  acquaintance 
— poor  fellow !  " 

"You  did  not  love  him,  then?"  asked  Lois,  in  the 
same  dry  manner. 

"  Mercy !  no  !     The  truth  is  " — 

"  Never  mind  about  explanations.  It  :s  now  ten 
o'clock.  The  train  leaves  at  eleven.  Good-night." 

"  Mr.  Wilson  is  down-stairs,  Miss  Christine,  and  the 
carriage  is  waiting,"  announced  the  maid. 

Lois  paused  upon  the  threshold.  Christine  had 
already  thrown  her  white  opera-cloak  over  her  should- 
ers and  taken  up  her  bouquet.  Lois  noted  this  and 
the  parting  glance  she  cast  at  the  mirror. 

"  You  have  no  message  to  send  in  case  he  should  be 
conscious  when  I  get  there  ?  "  she  said  with  an  effort. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  313 

"  None  !  Except  regards  and  condolences,  and  so 
forth.  I  hope  the  account  of  his  danger  is  exaggerated. 
A  pleasant  journey  to  you ;  but  you'll  find  it  fearfully 
cold  travelling  all  night." 

The  parlor  door  stood  open,  and  Mr.  Wilson,  a  per- 
fumed exquisite  of  the  first  water,  his  curly  hair  parted 
in  the  middle  and  clustering  symmetrically  about  his 
smooth  temples,  bowed  and  smirked  to  Miss  Grant, 
who  returned  the  salute  coldly.  "  Is  this  the  creature 
who  has  supplanted  my  poor  David  ?  "  she  thought  for 
a  second,  then  forgot  that  he  had  ever  been  born. 

She  set  off  on  her  journey  by  that  night's  train,  and 
by  noon  on  the  morrow  stood  at  David's  bedside, 
Mrs.  Bracy  had  met  her  with  the  intelligence  that  he 
was  still  unconscious,  and  related  what  was  supposed 
to  be  a  true  history  of  the  casualty.  The  spring  tor- 
rents of  Stony  Brook,  always  remarkable  for  volume 
and  force,  had  this  year  been  unusually  heavy,  and 
early  that  week  had  suddenly  swelled  up  to  the  floor- 
ing of  the  bridge,  bursting  it  away  from  the  beams  in 
several  places,  and  otherwise  injuring  it  so  seriously  as 
to  make  the  passage  dangerous.  A  barricade  was  there- 
fore erected  at  each  end  to  prevent  accidents,  and 
the  work  of  repairing  it  commenced.  Mr.  Rodman 
was  travelling  on  horseback,  and  probably,  after  en- 
countering this  obstacle  to  his  progress,  had  attempted 
the  ford,  the  waters  having  greatly  subsided.  He 
would  hardly  have  dared  to  do  this  in  the  daytime, 
but  in  the  uncertain  twilight  of  a  cloudy  day  had  no 
doubt  been  deceived  as  to  the  depth  and  violence  of 
the  stream,  and  relied  upon  his  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  crossing  to  insure  his  safety.  His  horse  had 


314  Z-0W  Grant,  and  Her  Reivard. 

missed  his  footing  among  the  stones  and  thrown  him, 
or  the  two  been  swept  down  and  whirled  over  and 
over  by  the  current.  Mrs.  Bracy  was  walking  upon 
the  piazza  when  she  heard  a  faint  shout  for  help,  and 
sent  off  two  of  the  farm  laborers  in  haste  to  the  travel- 
ler's rescue.  They  found  him  lodged  between  two 
jutting  rocks  at  the  foot  of  a  willow  tree.  "  The  very 
one  on  which  your  veil  caught,  you  remember?"  said 
Mrs.  Bracy,  beginning  to  sob  anew.  "  His  head  was 
badly  cut,  and  the  doctors  think  his  brain  is  injured, 
even  if  there  is  no  other  internal  hurt.  My  first 
thought  was  of  you,  poor  dear  "- 

Lois  lifted  her  hand  to  stop  her.  Any  expression 
of  sympathy  or  compassion  seemed  such  a  vain  mock- 
ery. "  It  was  very  thoughtful — very  kind.  If  he  is 
still  insensible  it  can  do  him  no  harm  for  me  to  go  in 
at  once." 

And  Mrs.  Bracy,  never  guessing  that  but  for  this  in- 
sensibility her  guest  would  have  shrunk  from  showing 
herself  to  the  wounded  man,  led  the  way  to  the  cham- 
ber that  had  last  summer  been  Lois's  own.  There 
had  already  been  a  consultation  of  physicians  since 
her  arrival,  her  aunt's  favorite  medical  man  having  at 
her  urgent  entreaty  travelled  down  with  her.  He 
liked  and  respected  her,  and  was  sure  moreover  of 
receiving  whatever  he  choose  to  charge  for  his  ser- 
vices and  loss  of  time.  Yet  he  wished  heartily  he 
had  refused  to  come  when  he  saw  her  close  beside 
him  as  he  turned  from  the  bed. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  she  whispered,  fastening  upon 
his  arm  a  clutch  that  made  him  wince.  Her  mood 
admitted  of  no  temporizing. 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  315 

"  I  fear  not,  my  child.     The  Lord's  will  be  done  !  " 

She  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  sufferer,  her  lips  upon 
the  limp  hand  lying  outside  of  the  coverlet,  her  face 
hidden  in  the  bedclothes.  The  doctors  retired  noise- 
lessly, and  Mrs.  Bracy,  as  she  followed  them,  heard 
the  only  audible  expression  of  grief  that  ever  escaped 
the  poor  girl  in  the  presence  of  another. 

"  O  David !  would  GOD  I  could  die  for  you,  my 
love  !  my  only  love  ! " 

"  Her  heart  broke  then,"  the  good  woman  would 
say  in  after  years,  never  without  weeping.  "  Don't 
tell  me  she  didn't  feel  it  as  much  as  some  women 
would! " 

David  spoke  but  once  in  the  deadly  lethargy  that 
never  released  him  while  he  breathed.  That  one  word 
was  "  Christine"  and  Lois,  who  was  supporting  his 
head,  heard  the  fond  murmur.  An  hour  afterward  he 
died.  His  mother,  to  whom  unselfish  Lois  had  sent 
a  telegram  as  she  passed  through  the  village  on  her 
way  to  the  farm-house,  arrived  too  late  to  close  his 
eyes.  They  were  sealed  down  by  Lois's  tearless  kiss. 

They  buried  him  by  the  side  of  his  father — the  two 
stricken  women,  and  then  went  their  different  ways, 
the  parent  greatly  comforted  by  the  tenderness  and 
thoughtful  care  of  her  who  was  to  have  been  her  son's 
lady  wife.  Lois  returned  to  her  desolate  home  to 
learn  how  true  had  been  Mr.  August's  predictions  of 
the  worthlessness  of  oil  lands  and  oil  stock.  Her  losses 
were  large  and  irremediable.  The  bubble  had  burst 
utterly,  and  there  were  no  fragments  to  glean.  She 
learned  also  what  interested  her  far  more,  namely, 
that  David's  sudden  journey  was  taken  in  consequence 


316  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

of  a  rumor  of  the  coming  crash.  She  sent  for  the 
gentleman  who  warned  him  of  the  danger,  and  ob- 
tained the  particulars  of  the  interview. 

"I  called  at  his  office  at  four  o'clock,"  he  said. 
"  He  was  not  well,  he  told  me,  and  looked  very  pale 
and  haggard.  My  news  shocked — then  aroused  him. 
At  first,  he  would  not  credit  the  possibility  of  the 
failure  I  represented  as  imminent,  but  after  hearing 
my  reasons  for  the  belief  became  excessively  dis- 
turbed, getting  up  and  pacing  his  office  floor  in  in- 
tense excitement. 

"'This  is  awful!'  he  said.  'It  is  bad  enough  for 
all  interested,  but  to  me  it  means  ruin  and  infamy.  I 
have  betrayed  the  trust  of  another,  and  such  trust !  " 

"'You  allude  to  Miss  Grant,  I  suppose,"  I  replied, 
soothingly.  '  She  must  know  that  you  have  acted  as 
you  thought  was  right  and  safe.  If  all  I  hear  of  you 
and  your  relations  be  true,  you  need  fear  no  censure 
from  her.' 

"'Censure!'  he  repeated.  'If  I  were  to  murder 
her  she  would  forgive  me  with  her  latest  breath.  I 
must  save  something  from  the  wreck  if  I  can.' " 

The  oil  region  was  a  trackless  wild  remote  from  any 
line  of  public  travel,  and  he  pushed  on  to  his  destina- 
tion without  halting  for  sleep  or  refreshment ;  spent 
twenty-four  hours  in  investigations  which  only  con- 
firmed his  suspicions  that  all  was  lost,  and  started  for 
home.  His  route  lay  directly  past  Mrs.  Bracy's  door. 
He  had  not  stopped  there  on  his  outward  journey. 
Others  bore  him  to  the  friendly  shelter  on  his  return. 

"  He  met  his  death  in  the  attempt  to  serve  me," 
Lois  said  with  sorrowful  pride  to  Mrs.  Miller.  "  I 


Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward.  317 

have  never  mourned  the  loss  of  the  money.  Since  I 
know  that  he  died  in  trying  to  save  it  I  am  glad  it  is 
gone.  It  would  have  seemed  like  the  price  of  his 
blood." 

He  had  remembered  her  kindly  and  remorsefully; 
had  never  doubted  the  sincerity  of  her  forgiveness; 
had  by  the  manner  of  his  death  atoned  for  coldness, 
neglect,  perfidy.  If  he  had  lived  he  would  perhaps 
have  come  back  to  her.  Now  that  he  was  dead,  he 
belonged  to  her — her  only.  The  heartless  butterfly 
who  had  danced  away  the  hours  in  which  he  lay 
dying ;  whose  smiles  were  sunny  and  false  to  other 
men  as  they  had  been  when  he  basked  in  them  ;  who 
could  name  him  to  her — his  widow — with  a  pert  for- 
mula of  condolence,  had  no  part  or  lot  in  her  hero- 
martyr.  She  wore  mourning  as  for  a  beloved  husband 
for  whose  sake  likewise  she  assumed  the  entire 
charge  of  the  aged  mother,  making  of  her  latter  years 
a  peaceful  and  balmy  twilight,  and  finding  abundant 
compensation  for  all  she  did  and  expended  in  her 
behalf  in  the  endless  stories  the  parent  delighted  to 
tell  of  her  boy — his  courage,  goodness,  talents  and 
beauty. 

"And  you  would  have  made  him  such  a  good  wife, 
my  dear,"  she  would  conclude  these  by  saying.  "  He 
always  wrote  to  me  and  told  me  you  were  the  best 
woman  in  the  world.  And  he  was  right.  No  wonder 
he  loved  you." 

"  I  loved  him  !  "  was  all  Lois's  response.  It  was  the 
key-note  of  her  existence. 

"  It  is  more  than  absurd — it  is  pitiable — her  venera- 
tion for  the  memory  of  that  coxcomb ! "  Mrs.  Miller 


318  Lois  Grant,  and  Her  Reward. 

imparted  confidentially  to  her  crony,  Mr.  August. 
"  She  has  given  up  society  entirely,  and  lives  like  a 
Sister  of  Charity — visiting  the  poor  and  the  sick.  She 
will  never  marry  now ;  and  look  at  her  widow's 
weeds!  The  library  where  he  used  to  sit  with  her  in 
the  evening  is  just  as  he  left  it,  except  that  his  por- 
trait, a  full-length  picture  and  a  capital  likeness, 
hangs  over  the  mantel.  I  know  everybody  ridicules 
her,  and  you  must  allow  that  she  deserves  it.  All  this 
grief  for  a  man  who  cared  only  for  her  money — who 
slighted,  wounded,  and  at  last  openly  forsook  her ! 
She  hasn't  a  spark  of  womanly  pride.  Such  behavior 
shows  a  very  weak,  shallow  mind." 

Mr.  August  was  rubbing  his  nose  and  eyes  to  free 
them  from  the  dust  or  other  irritating  substance. 
"  Maybe  so!  maybe  so!  In  fact  I  have  no  doubt  you 
are  quite  correct,  my  dear  madam.  Women  judge  of 
such  matters  so  much  more  impartially  than  men  do. 
It  is  as  you  say  a  very  singular  case ;  but  hasn't  it  oc- 
curred to  you  sometimes  that  it  shows  a  very  strong, 
deep  heart  ?  " 


ONE  OLD  MAID. 


THE  Scribas  were  dining  en  famille  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  last  day  of  the  year.  Mr.  Scriba,  gentlemanly 
and  quiet — one  of  the  solid  men  of  the  town,  who,  if 
he  found  solidity 'a  serious  matter,  was  yet  amiably 
disposed  toward  the  world  that  had  bestowed  the  dis- 
tinction upon  him — discussed  the  contents  of  his 
plate  as  he  did  most  subjects,  with  deliberate  care, 
the  slight  plait  between  his  brows  becoming  a  shrewd 
and  solid  man.  Mrs.  Scriba  had  been  passably  pretty 
in  her  youth,  and  being  plump  and  well-dressed  was 
even  more  comely  in  the  autumn  of  her  matronhood. 
Complacent  in  her  house,  the  dinner,  her  toilet  and 
her  children  ;  satisfied  with  her  husband,  and  content 
for  the  time  with  her  servants,  she  listened  with 
beaming  face  to  the  merry  rattle  of  the  young  peo- 
ple, answered  indulgently  and  judiciously  the  various 
appeals  to  her  judgment  and  memory. 

There  were  four  of  her  children  at  the  table— John, 
Jr.,  aged  twenty-five ;  Emma,  twenty-two ;  Effie, 
eighteen,  and  Harry,  thirteen.  They  were  all  goodly 
to  look  upon,  pleasanf  of  temper,  well-educated  and 
stylish.  I  do  not  like  the  word,  but  through  much 
use  it  has  come  to  express  what  I  mean — a  certain 
air  of  high-bred  fashion  and  ease  that  is  not  put  on 
319 


320  One  Old  Maid. 

and  off  with  one's  clothes.  The  equally  well-looking 
young  gentleman  who  sat  at  Emma's  right  was  Mr. 
Edwin  Rowland,  her  betrothed,  and  therefore  enti- 
tled to  a  place  in  the  family  circle  even  upon  not-at- 
home  days,  and  such  is  New-Year's  Eve  generally  in 
households  that  expect  to  be  overrun  by  emulous 
friends  on  the  morrow.  Only  nobodies  paid  visits  on 
this  day,  and  the  Scribas  were  too  near  the  top  of  the 
tree  to  trouble  themselves  about  that  class  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  Sitting  there  under  their  own  fres- 
coes and  chandeliers,  they  suffered  no  thought  of 
possible  intruders  to  make  them  afraid,  and  enjoyed 
the  goods  of  fortune  with  open  hearts  and  happy  faces. 

Until  the  conversation  struck  something  projected 
into  the  frothy  current  by  John,  that  diverted  it  from 
its  course.  Effie,  a  giddy  tease,  had  accused  him  of  a 
lack  of  philanthropy  in  remaining  single  to  the  ripe 
age  of  twenty-five,  "  when  so  many  worthy  women 
were  sinking  into  elderliness  and  melancholy  without 
the  husbands  to  which  their  merits  entitled  them." 

"  I  am  not  a  philanthropist  ! "  asserted  her  brother 
boldly.  "  I  have  no  patience  with  the  stock  cant 
about  doing  good  to  one's  kind,  self-immolation  for 
the  elevation  of  others  and  the  like  heroic  humbug. 
I  don't  want  to  serve  my  age  one-tenth  as  much  as  I 
want  to  serve  myself  ;  to  make  such  use  of  my  time, 
talents  and  money  as  will  make  me  wisest  and  hap- 
piest. Providence  has  put  me  into  John  Scriba's 
keeping  and  he  means  to  take  excellent  care  of  the 
consignment." 

"But  it  is  surely  nobler  to  live  for  others?"  ven- 
tured Emma,  with  a  slight  blush. 


One  Old  Maid.  321 

John  laughed.  "  Put  it  in  the  singular,  Em,  and  I 
grant  you  it  must  be  a  nice  thing — so  very  com- 
fortable as  to  come  within  the  range  of  my  philosophy 
of  self-improvement.  What  I  inveigh  against  is  sepa- 
ration, not  identification  of  interests ;  this  making 
one  man's  meat  to  be  another's  bane.  When  it  comes 
to  that,  I  respectfully  decline  the  bane.  '  Live  and 
let  live  '  is  a  decent  and  sensible  motto.  To  die  that 
other  people  may  live  and  have  a  jolly  time  is  to  my 
perception  simply  and  barbarously  unreasonable." 

"  That  is  a  terrible  blow  at  heroism,  as  exemplified 
by  ancients  and  moderns,"  said  young  Rowland. 
"  What  would  become  of  the  poet-historians  if  you 
class  Curtius,  Lycurgus,  Arnold  Winkelried  and  a  host 
of  other  stand-bys  among  the  world's  chief  simpletons, 
instead  of  worthies  ?  No,  Emma  is  right.  Self-ab- 
negation is  a  glorious  thing.  There  is  a  spring  in 
every  man's  heart  that  stirs  at  such  stories  as  these ; 
that  chokes  and  blinds  him  when  he  hears,  in  our 
day,  of  conduct  like  Herndon's,  the  commanding  of- 
ficer of  the  Central  America.  You  remember  it,  Mr. 
Scriba?  And  so  should  you,  John.  When  the  ves- 
sel was  foundering,  he  kept  the  men  on  board  at  bay 
by  force  of  exhortation,  command  and  threat,  until 
all  the  women  and  children  were  in  the  boats,  then 
suffered  the  remaining  places  to  be  filled  by  other 
passengers.  There  were  still  many  on  the  sinking 
steamer  for  whom  no  room  could  be  made.  Herndon 
put  his  favorite  servant  in  the  seat  reserved  for  him- 
self, took  off  his  watch  and  sent  it  by  the  man  with 
a  parting  message  to  his  wife.  '  As  for  me,  I  shall 
stay  by  the  ship,  and  with  these!  '  he  said,  pointing  to 
14* 


322  One  Old  Maid. 

the  doomed  band.  These  were  the  last  words  the 
survivors  ever  heard  him  speak." 

"  That'  was  grand  !  sublime  !  "  cried  Emma,  twink- 
ling back  the  tears  that  applauded  the  story  and  her 
lover's  rhetoric.  "  Is  it  possible,  John,  that  you  can 
see  no  beauty  in  such  conduct?" 

"  Beauty !  do  you  call  it?  I  name  it  arrant  folly, 
the  rankest  kind  of  absurdity,  since  he  threw  away 
his  life  for  an  idea.  The  sacrifice  did  not  save  the 
meanest  creature  in  what  you  term  '  the  doomed 
band.'  They  died  as  surely  as  if  he  had  not  wid- 
owed his  wife  and  perhaps  beggared  his  children. 
You  can  extract  no  grains  of  romance  out  of  my 
composition,  Em.  Even  in  my  boyhood  I  saw  the 
fatuity  of  that  undersized,  overrated  prig,  Casabianca, 
the  boy  of  burning  deck  notoriety." 

"  I  thought  his  name  was  Pat  Malloy,"  interrupted 
Harry.  "  The  song  says  so.  What  are  you  all  laugh- 
ing at  ?  "  hotly,  as  the  merriment  heightened. 

"  '  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 
His  baggage  checked  for  Troy '  " — 

"  Miss  Boyle  !  "  announced  the  footman,  throwing 
wide  the  dining-room  door. 

A  tall,  meagre  lady  entered  wrapped  in  a  thick 
plaid  shawl,  simpering  and  blinking  as  the  blaze  of 
the  gas-lights  struck  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  called  at  an  inopportune  mo- 
ment, but  I  get  out  so  seldom,  and  I  could  not  deny 
myself,  to-morrow  being  New-Year's,  and  I  was  at 
your  very  door  as  I  may  say  " — 


One  Old  Maid.  323 

"  Miss  Boyle,  allow  me  to  present  Mr.  Rowland," 
said  the  stately  host,  checking  her  in  mid-career. 

"  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Rowland." 
Miss  Boyle  bowed  stiffly,  yet  low,  until  Effie  after- 
wards declared  she  was  afraid  she  would  break  in  the 
middle,  backing  away  as  she  did  so  from  the  gentle- 
man who  had  arisen  to  be  introduced.  "  I  have  often 
heard  of  you  from  our  mutual  friends — cannot  meet 
you  as  a  stranger,  as  indeed  I  know  you  are  not  in 
this  house,"  another  simper.  "  Fine  winter  weather 
this,  Mr.  Rowland  ;  bracing  to  the  entire  system.  I 
enjoy  walking — pedestrian  exercise — in  cold  weather 
much  more  than  I  should  riding — although  the  street 
cars  are  a  great  convenience — it  imparts  a  fine  glow 
to  the  whole  frame.  No  thank  you,  my  dear  girls, 
positively  nothing  for  me !  It  is  near  my  tea-hour,  as 
you  are  aware ;  I  cannot  think  of  tasting  a  morsel." 

"  Sit  down,  Co.  Coffee  will  be  brought  up  directly," 
said  Mrs.  Scriba,  in  the  tone  of  good-humored  patro- 
nage people  near  the  top  use  to  those  at  the  foot  of 
the  allegorical  tree  aforesaid.  "  You  will  feel  better 
for  eating  and  drinking  something  warm.  James,  take 
Miss  Boyle's  hat  and  shawl." 

"  I  won't  trouble  James — thank  you,  Juliana!  Since 
you  are  so  urgent,  I  will  just  loosen  my  shawl  but 
not  remove  my  bonnet.  Thank  you  ! "  to  the  waiter 
who  set  a  chair  for  her  next  Mrs.  Scriba's.  ''I  am 
absolutely  ashamed  to  put  you  all  to  such  trouble. 
I  only  said  to  myself  in  passing — I  will  just  peep  in 
for  half  an  instant  to  see  how  they  all  are  and  to  wish 
them  '  Happy  New-Year.'  It  has  been  such  an  age  since 
I  saw  you,  and  I  get  out  so  seldom,  and  to-morrow  of 


*' 


324  One  Old  Maid. 

course  no  lady  can  show  herself  in  the  street.  No, 
my  dear  Harry,  no  oyster/^//  for  me,  thank  you  !  I 
rarely  touch  such  rich  dainties.  No  wine,  thank  you, 
John  !  Or,  if  you  insist,  just  the  wee-est  drop — 
enough,  thank  you!  Dear  me  !  am  /  keeping  the 
table  waiting?" 

"  There  is  no  haste,"  remarked  Mr.  Scriba,  politely, 
while  Effie  said  she  was  glad  there  was  somebody  to 
keep  her  in  countenance,  "  since  she  was  not  half 
through  her  dinner,  having  talked  while  the  others 
ate." 

Miss  Boyle  would  not  be  put  at  her  ease.  She  felt  that 
she  ought  to  make  herself  agreeable,  especially  to  her 
new  acquaintance ;  but  the  walk  in  the  frosty  air  had 
sharpened  her  appetite  ;  the  dinner,  so  much  more 
savory  than  she  was  wont  to  see  on  her  own  board, 
appealed  irresistibly  to  her  senses.  She  was  keeping 
everybody  waiting,  she  could  see,  despite  the  well- 
bred  feint  of  occupation  kept  up  by  most  of  the 
party  ;  her  bonnet-strings  got  into  her  plate  ;  the  wine 
titillated  her  palate  until  she  had  to  cough  behind  her 
napkin,  vulgar  as  she  deemed  the  action ;  the  trained 
waiter's  attention  embarrassed  her,  especially  as  she 
turned  her  head  to  thank  him  every  time  he  offered  a 
dish,  and  she  was  unused  to  eating  in  the  presence  of 
so  many  people.  The  sweat — she  would  have  said 
perspiration — oozed  in  minute  specks  to  the  surface 
of  her  sallow  skin  by  the  time  she  laid  down  her  knife 
and  fork,  her  hunger  but  half-appeased.  She  remem- 
bered, just  in  season  to  mention  it  in  justification  of 
her  ravenousness,  how  little  dinner  she  had  eaten  at 
noon. 


One  Old  Maid.  325 

"  I  had  just  taken  my  seat  at  the  table  when  I  was 
interrupted,  and  when  quiet  was  restored — I  would 
say  a  degree  of  comfort — that  is,  when  I  could  resume 
my  meal,  I  found  the  zest  had  departed.  Indeed  I 
do  not  think  dining  alone  is  conducive  to  appetite  at 
any  time.  I  consider  sociability  the  very  sauce  of — 
ahem !  gastronomical  refreshment.  Do  not  you  agree 
with  me,  Mr.  Rowland?" 

Emma  thanked  her  lover  in  her  heart  that  his  smile 
was  polite,  not  one  of  amusement. 

"  I  do,  madam,  entirely.  I  think  fasting  is  prefer- 
able to  taking  one's  meals  in  solitary  wretchedness. 
Cheerful  society  and  conversation  upon  pleasant  topics 
— even  such  accessories  as  the  tasteful  arrangement  of 
the  dishes — a  clear,  soft  light,  flowers  and  fair  faces 
surrounding  the  board,  undoubtedly  promote  not  only 
appetite  but  digestion  ;  and  the  reverse  likewise  holds 
true.  We  study  these  things  too  little  as  a  nation 
and  as  individuals  "- 

"  A  very  just  observation,"  Miss  Boyle  interposed 
hastily.  "Very  neatly  put.  My  dear  Juliana,  how 
well  you  are  looking;  and  Mr.  Scriba,  also.  You  are 
actually  renewing  your  youth.  It  is  a  gleam  of  gen- 
uine sunshine,  the  glimpse  at  this  festive  scene.  This 
ice  cream  is  truly  delicious  ;  and  what  luscious  grapes." 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Rowland  noticed  that  she  plucked 
but  a  single  berry  from  the  cluster,  leaving  the  rest 
upon  her  plate. 

"  What  noble  oranges  !  "  she  exclaimed  when  they 
were  passed  to  her,  and  selected  one  which  was  laid 
beside  the  grapes. 

The  gentlemen  quitted  the  dining-room  with  the 


326  One  Old  Maid. 

young  ladies,  leaving  Miss  Boyle  alone  with  the  host- 
ess. Mr.  Rowland  sat  opposite  the  oper  door  of  the 
parlor,  fifteen  minutes  afterwards,  when  the  lean  fig- 
ure tip-toed  through  the  hall,  still  with  the  air  of  being 
in  the  house  upon  sufferance.  She  was  accompanied 
by  Mrs.  Scriba  and  Harry,  and  the  latter  had  a  cov- 
ered basket  in  his  hand.  The  visitor's  apologies,  ut- 
tered in  a  wheezing  undertone,  were  quite  audible  to 
the  young  lover,  while  she  halted  to  put  on  her  over- 
shoes and  tie  a  thick  veil  over  her  best  bonnet. 

"  It  is  a  downright  imposition,  Harry,  dear,  to  make 
you  play  porter,  but  your  mamma  most  generously 
pressed  the  hamper  upon  me.  Say  '  Good-night '  to 
the  girls  for  me.  I  hear  the  piano,  so  won't  disturb 
them.  If  I  were  not  pressed  for  time — for  I  have  not 
outlived  my  love  of  music — I  should  be  tempted  to 
linger.  I  think  one  never  outlives  a  real,  honest  love 
for  anything.  Good-night,  Juliana !  I  have  had  a 
charming  visit — charm'mg" 

"  Harry,  be  sure  you  put  your  aunt  on  the  right 
car,"  was  Mrs.  Scriba's  parting  injunction. 

"  Aunt !  "  Emma's  betrothed  believed  he  had  not 
heard  aright.  He  had  supposed  the  gaunt  spinster 
who  had  made  herself  so  uncomfortable  as  his  vis-h-vis 
at  table  to  be  an  old  school  friend,  or  at  the  nearest, 
a  far-off  poor  relation  of  his  plump  mother-in-law-ex- 
pectant. Yet  he  now  recollected  that  Mrs.  Scriba's 
maiden  name  was  Boyle.  This  was  then  her  own 
sister  whom  he  had  never  seen,  who  had  never  been 
named  in  his  presence.  It  was  odd.  The  duet  was 
finished  and  Effie  flitted  back  to  him  from  the  piano. 

"  I  hope  your  abstraction  is  born  of  our  music,  and 


One  Old  Maid.  327 

not  of  a  sudden  passion  for  our  fascinating  aunt,"  she 
said  saucily.  "  Em,  Mr.  Rowland  is  congratulating 
himself  upon  your  resemblance  to  Aunt  Co.  It  is  so 
nice  to  think  that  you  will  look  just  like  her  when  you 
are — Mamma!"  as  Mrs.  Scriba  entered,  "how  old  is 
Aunt  Co?  Forty?  fifty?  seventy-five?  a  hundred?" 

"  She  looks  older  than  she  really  is,  and  her  secluded 
life  has  made  her  old-fashioned  in  dress — stiff  in  man- 
ner," responded  Mrs.  Scriba,  with  gentle  seriousness. 
"  Don't  laugh  at  elderly  people,  dear,  or  papa  and  I 
will  come  in  for  our  share." 

"  Now,  mamma,  as  if  I  could.  But  why  must  old 
maids  be  " — 

"  Old  maids  !  "  supplied  John.  "  Don't  struggle 
for  an  expressive  adjective.  I  have  covered  the  whole 
ground.  Celibacy  in  man  or  woman  is  an  offence 
against  natural  laws,  and  the  offender  bears  the  stamp 
for  all  time.  Nobody,  for  example,  could  mistake  our 
excellent  aunt  for  anything  but  an  elderly  maiden  of 
increasingly  uncertain  age." 

"  She  is  an  excellent  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Scriba,  yet 
more  gravely.  "  And  although  you  may  not  credit  it, 
Miss  .Effie,  she  was  really  handsome  in  her  youth,  be- 
sides being  very  vivacious  and  pleasing  in  conversa- 
tion. Young  people  are  incredulous  and  uncharitable 
as  regards  the  ravages  of  time  and  care." 

"  They  needn't  make  one  finical  aud  artificial," 
murmured  Effie  to  her  sister,  somewhat  sobered  by 
her  mother's  manner.  ''What  is  it,  James?  "  to  the 
servant  who  appeared  at  the  door  with  a  card  in  his 
hand. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  Mr.  Scriba,  ma'am." 


328  One  Old  Maid. 

Mrs.  Scriba  took  the  card,  and  her  face  lighted  up 
instantly.  "  He's  in  the  sitting-room,  James.  Take 
this  to  him  when  you  have  showed  the  gentleman  in 
here."  She  advanced  a  step  nearer  the  door,  and  the 
irrepressible  Effie  made  time  for  her  query. 

"  Who  is  he,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Lloyd — Aleck  Lloyd  we  used  to  call  him ;  an 
old  friend  whom  I  have  not  seen  since  John  there 
was  a  baby." 

The  stranger  was  on  the  threshold  as  she  said  it. 
He  was  tall  and  sinewy,  erect  in  figure,  quick  of  eye 
and  motion  although  his  hair  and  beard  were  grizzled. 
The  spectators  noted  without  interpreting  it  the 
searching  glance  that  swept  the  room  ere  his  hand 
met  Mrs.  Scriba's  in  a  long,  hearty  grasp. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  great  this  unexpected  pleas- 
ure is,"  said  the  lady,  cordially. 

"  What  must  it  be,  then,  to  me,  who  have  not 
looked  upon  my  former  home  and  friends  for  almost 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ?  "  said  a  deep  voice,  so  round 
and  pleasant  as  to  prepossess  his  youthful  auditors  at 
once  in  his  favor.  "And  to  meet  you  so  becomingly 
surrounded  enhances  the  enjoyment.  Are  these  all 
yours?" 

"  Almost." 

The  visitor  caught  the  meaning  of  her  smile. 

"  More  congratulations  ?  "  asked  he,  returning  it 
brightly.  "  There  is  no  need  to  tell  me  which  are  al- 
ready and  quite  yours.  I  see  father  and  mother  in 
each  face." 

Effie  was  the  prettier  of  the  two,  as  the  wicked  witch 
well  knew,  and  she  was  puzzled  to  understand  why  he 


One  Old  Maid.  329 

looked  oftener  and  more  earnestly  at  Emma  during 
the  half  hour  that  he  stayed. 

"  He's  the  most  delightful  old  gentleman  I  have 
seen  this  century,"  she  grumbled  aside  to  John.  "  And 
I  always  had  a  fancy  for  being  an  '  auld  man's  dar- 
ling.' " 

Mr.  Lloyd  had  lived  in  Mississippi  since  his  removal 
from  his  native  city,  the  Scribas  learned  in  the  course 
of  their  familiar  chat.  He  had  married  there,  had 
three  sons  born  to  him,  and  was  now  a  widower.  Effie 
imagined  that  her  mother  looked  more  serious  at  this 
announcement  than  was  required  by  decorous  regret,' 
his  wife  having  died  three  years  before. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  suspects  in  him  a  possible  aspirant 
for  my  hand ! "  she  meditated,  maliciously.  "  But 
won't  I  tease  her  for  that  when  he's  gone !" 

The  seriousness  deepened  into  sadness  when  he 
contrived  to  talk  aside  with  the  lady  of  the  house  for 
a  few  minutes  just  before  he  took  his  leave.  Effie 
was  near  enough  to  catch  the  drift  of  the  confer- 
ence. 

"  Your  sisters  are  well,  I  hope  ?  Do  they  live  near 
you  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Rawdon  resides  in  Hartford,  but  I  see  her 
frequently.  She  has  a  fine  family  and  a  beautiful 
home.  My  youngest  sister  " — there  was  no  mistak- 
ing the  mutual  embarrassment  that  prevented  them 
from  meeting  one  another's  eyes — "  still  lives  at  the 
old  homestead.  It  was  left  to  her,  you  know.  Her 
health  is  very  good.  She  was  here  this  evening  a 
little  while  before  you  came." 

A  second's  pause,  in  which  his  mien  questioned — 


330  One  Old  Maid. 

the  bent  head  and  waiting  eyes — and  his  lips  were 
mute. 

"  She  is  still  single,"  Mrs.  Scriba  added,  unable  to 
resist  the  silent  interrogation.  "  The  reason — or 
what  she  construed  long  ago  into  a  reason  for  not 
changing  her  condition — exists  still." 

"  I  shall  try  to  see  her  to-morrow,"  and  he  turned 
to  his  host  to  ask  some  question  about  local  poli- 
tics. 

"  Mamma,"  whispered  Effie,  crazed  by  curiosity, 
yet  half-awed  by  the  magnitude  of  her  discovery, 
dancing  up  to  her  mother's  side  by  the  time  the  guest 
passed  from  the  parlor,  "  was  he  an  old  beau  of  Aunt 
Go's  ?  Did  she  really  ever  have  one  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  threw  him  away  for  a  whim,"  ejaculated 
Mrs.  Scriba,  petulantly,  also  sotto  voce. 

"  You  don't  say  so !  But  it  seems  so  queer.  Why, 
he's  splendid  !  and  she — isn't !  " 

"  Hush,  child  !  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  by  and 
by.  Some  things  are  not  suitable  subjects  for  parlor- 
talk." 

To  her  husband,  when  they  went  together  to  their 
own  sitting-room,  she  said  :  "  What  a  wreck  that 
obstinate  girl  has  made  of  her  life.  But  for  her  over- 
strained notions  of  duty  and  persistency  in  her  mad 
scheme  she  might  marry  Aleck  Lloyd  even  now.  He 
cannot  name  her  yet  without  emotion.  He  is  going 
to  see  her  to-morrow." 

"  She  would  do  a  good  thing  for  herself  in  marry- 
ing him,"  observed  Mr.  Scriba,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way.  "  But  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  he  will  be  in- 
clined to  renew  his  suit  when  he  sees  her.  He  is  rich 


One  Old  Maid.  331 

and  a  live  man,  full  of  energy  and  enterprise.  He 
has  kept  up  with  his  generation  ;  she  has  fallen  far 
behind  it.  You  will  see  that  nothing  will  come  of  the 
visit." 

Meanwhile  Miss  Boyle  was  making  her  way  by  car 
and  on  foot  to  a  quiet  street  quite  on  the  other  side 
of  the  city.  The  night  was  clear  and  cold  ;  but  the 
pavements  were  damp  from  recent  heavy  rains,  and 
the  stiffening  mud  at  the  crossings  was  mixed  with 
half-melted  snow.  Aunt  Go's  feet  sank  into  it  sev- 
eral times  above  her  rubbers,  and  more  than  once  she 
clutched  the  basket  tightly  and  threw  out  the  other 
hand  to  balance  herself  upon  the  slippery  flagging. 
It  was  a  disagreeable  thing — this  going  out  on  winter 
evenings  alone.  Yet  it  was  nobody's  business  to  look 
after  her.  Her  nephews  were  kind  and  respectful 
when  they  met.  Harry  had  stopped  a  car  for  her  and 
seen  her  safely  into  it,  getting  on  himself  for  a  mo- 
ment to  put  her  basket  in  after  her  and  to  pay  her 
fare,  as  she  discovered  when  the  conductor  came 
through.  His  mother  had  given  him  his  orders 
probably.  His  aunt  could  not  have  expected,  indeed 
would  not  have  allowed  the  lad  to  accompany  her 
all  the  way — a  full  mile  at  least.  Still  less  could  slie 
suppose  that  John  would  put  himself  to  such  incon- 
venience. She  could  get  along  safely  enough;  was 
accustomed  to  dispense  with  the  service  of  an  escort, 
as  they  all  knew.  Only  there  was  a  tremendous  dis- 
tance between  her  sister's  home  and  hers  on  this 
New-Year's  Eve;  between  the  two  who  for  twenty 
years  had  lived  in  the  same  house,  known  the  same 
joys  and  griefs.  Juliana's  life  had  been  growing 


332 


One  Old  Maid. 


deeper,  richer,  brighter  every  year,  and  month,  and 
day  ;  hers  narrowing  and  glooming  in  like  ratio. 

"  Not  that  I  would  complain,"  she  thought,  depre- 
catingly,-as  was  her  wont  to  think  and  to  speak,  and 
she  drew  both  ankles  out  of  a  very  sloshy  gutter. 
"  Of  course  I  know  it  is  the  Lord's  will,  but  I  do  get 
sore  and  tired  sometimes.  I  have  learned  not  to  mind 
many  things  that  used  to  seem  unbearable  ;  but  there 
are  others  that  will  get  at  the  quick,  do  what  I  will  to 
ward  them  off.  I  suppose  it  is  with  the  sensibilities 
as  it  is  with  my  feet,"  helped  to  the  simile  by  another 
mud-hole  ;  "  the  rubber  doesn't  go  all  the  way  up." 

She  was  at  home — a  plain  but  spacious  house,  with 
what  had  been  in  its  day  a  Handsome  flight  of  stone 
steps  leading  to  the  front  door.  It  was  a  dingy  quar- 
ter, from  which  fashion  had  long  since  fled,  although 
it  remained  perfectly  respectable.  Miss  Boyle  let 
herself  in  with  a  latch-key  and  went  along  a  dimly- 
lighted  entry  to  a  back  room,  whence  issued  an  odd 
sound,  like  the  plaining  of  a  cross  child,  uttered  in  a 
coarse  masculine  voice.  Shriller  tones  made  response 
as  Aunt  Go's  hand  touched  the  lock. 

"  Hush  up  that  noise !  You'd  ought  to  be  well 
shaken,  you  had  ought !  It  ain't  my  fault  she  isn't 
here  to  give  you  your  supper.  If  I'd  my  way  you 
would  go  to  bed  without  it.  Be  quiet,  or  she  shan't 
ever  come  home  !  " 

Amid  the  burst  of  lamentations  aroused  by  this 
threat  Miss  Boyle  entered.  Something  sat  on  the 
floor  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  whimpering  and  rub- 
bing one  eye  with  a  big  fist — a  woman  as  tall  as  Miss 
Boyle  herself,  and  obese  to  unsightliness ;  with  a 


One  Old  Maid.  333 

thick  hanging  jaw  and  small  eyes  set  very  far  apart, 
low  forehead,  beetling  brows,  long  upper  lip  and  a 
mane  of  coarse  gray  hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders — 
a  creature  from  which  sane  humanity  turned,  sick  at 
the  caricature  of  itself.  The  face  was  wet  with  tears 
and  smeared  with  dirt  from  her  soiled  hands,  but  she 
stopped  crying  at  sight  of  her  sister.  Springing  up, 
clumsy  and  eager,  she  ran  to  her,  caught  hold  of  her 
dress  and  babbled  in  furious  gibberish,  illustrating 
her  meaning  by  angry  gestures  toward  the  other  oc- 
cupant of  the  apartment.  This  was  a  shrewish  little 
woman  in  cap  and  spectacles,  who  without  noticing 
the  pantomime  stooped  to  lift  a  tea-pot  from  the 
hearth  to  a  round  table  set  on  one  side  of  the 
fire. 

"  Yes,  my  baby ;  sister  knows,"  responded  the 
guardian,  patting  the  fat  cheek,  and  smiling  fondly. 
"  Sister  didn't  mean  to  leave  her  so  long.  Now  Lulu 
will  be  good  and  she  shall  have  something  nice  for 
her  supper.  Has  she  been  very  troublesome,  Mattie  ?  " 
to  the  sharp  little  maid. 

"  'Bout's  usual.  She's  always  ugly  as  sin.  She 
throwed  a  new  handkerchief  of  yours  into  the  fire, 
and  would  'a  sent  your  work-box  after  it  if  I  hadn't 
ketched  it  as  'twas  goin'.  You  was  out  later'n  com- 
mon, and  she  worried  awful  'bout  that.  She  knows 
when  time's  up  well  as  you  do." 

"  It  is  wonderful  how  smart  she  is !  "  commented 
Miss  Boyle,  in  plaintive  admiration.  "  I  didn't  mean 
to  be  away  so  long — I  just  ran  in  for  a  minute  to  see 
Juliana." 

She  was  washing  the   idiot's  face  with  a  wet  cloth, 


334  One  Old  Maid. 

and  panted  out  the  broken  bits  of  sentences  in  a 
frightened  way  that  seemed  to  be  habitual  to  her. 

"  Hold  still,  my  precious  child  !  You  see  I  hadn't 
seen  her  for  an  age — and  they  were  just  at  dinner — 
such  an  elegant  affair  it  was,  too — I  wish  you  had 
seen  it,  Mattie — and  Emma's  betrothed  was  there,  a 
very  handsome,  agreeable  young  man  he  is — and  they 
would  make  me  sit  down,  although  I  told  them  I 
hadn't  time — and  I  ran  away  the  minute  I  was  through 
eating.  That  is,"  with  conscientious  accuracy,  "  the 
instant  Juliana  had  this  basket  ready.  Yes,  there  is 
something  in  it  for  Lulu,"  the  idiot  was  tugging  at 
the  cover;  "  but  she  must  eat  her  bread  and  milk  first, 
like  a  nice  girl,  and  not  slop  it  over  the  table  or  pull 
the  cloth  off  as  she  did  at  dinner-time." 

Lulu  began  to  cry  again ;  then  stopping  suddenly 
laughed  yet  more  disagreeably,  and  pointed  to  a  large 
grease-spot  on  the  carpet. 

"  The  carpet  will  have  to  come  up  before  that  can 
be  cleaned,"  snapped  Mattie.  "  I've  been  at  work 
scouring  it,  off  and  on,  the  whole  afternoon.  If  she'd 
been  mine  I'd  a  boxed  her  ears  for  that  job.  She 
knowed  better." 

Lulu  spit  at  her  spitefully,  and  Miss  Boyle  stepped 
between  them. 

"  Here,  Mattie,  that  is  for  you,"  she  whispered, 
covertly  conveying  an  immense  bunch  of  black  Ham- 
burg grapes  into  her  hand — the  cluster  had  been 
saved  from  her  own  dessert.  Juliana  had  sent  some  to 
Lulu  ;  but  these  were  honestly  her  own,  and  she  threw 
them  as  a  sop  to  the  household  Cerberus.  "Lulu 
doesn't  mean  to  be  naughty,  but  it  is  natural  for  Mat- 


One  Old  Maid.  335 

tie  to  get  a  little,  just  a  little  out  of  patience  with  her 
sometimes  when  she  is  very  mischievous.  Mattie  is 
very  good  and  kind,  and  Lulu  mustn't  be  cross  to  her." 

"  She'd  behave  herself  more  like  folks,  if  somebody 
else  wasn't  so  partial  with  her,"  growled  the  sharp  one. 
"  It  ain't  the  right  way  to  manage  'em,  as  I've  told 
you  a  thousand  times.  If  she  was  in  a  'sylum,  she'd 
be  taught  after  a  different  style,  I  can  tell  you." 

Miss  Boyle's  face  twitched.  "  Don't  speak  of  it, 
Mattie.  Haven't  I  thought  of  all  that?  I  can't  be 
hard  upon  her.  I  haven't  the  heart  to  do  it  even  if 
I  hadn't  promised  my  mother.  The  Scotch  call  them 
'  innocents.'  I  remember  mother  told  me  that  when 
I  was  a  little  child.  It  has  helped  me  often  and  often 
when  I  remembered  it." 

They  were  twins — these  two — and  the  fond  mother, 
who  had  just  finished  Madame  de  Stael's  popular 
romance,  had  them  christened  respectively  Corinne 
and  Lucile.  Corinne  grew  up  shapely  in  body  and 
intellect ;  Lucile  had  never  spoken  an  articulate  word, 
never  passed  in  mind  the  first  year  of  babyhood.  It 
was  a  sore  affliction  to  the  father,  and,  as  they  came 
to  the  understanding  of  it,  a  trial  and  mortification  to 
the  brothers  and  elder  sisters.  But  to  the  mother 
and  Corinne,  Lulu  ivas  the  most  interesting  member 
of  the  household.  Her  bursts  of  temper,  her  crying 
fits,  the  demon  of  wanton  mischief  that  continually 
possessed  her,  the  helplessness  that  demanded  the 
constant  services  of  one  or  the  other  of  her  devoted 
nurses,  could  not  weaken  their  attachment.  When 
the  father,  secretly  urged  by  the  other  children,  spoke 
of  hiding  what  he  was  disposed  to  regard  as  a  family 


336  One  Old  Maid. 

disgrace  in  the  safe  seclusion  of  an  asylum,  Mrs. 
Boyle's  terror  and  indignation  were  like  the  rage  of  a 
bereaved  lioness.  The  subject  was  never  broached 
again  while  she  lived.  She  survived  her  husband  but 
a  year;  and  dying  bequeathed  the  unfortunate  girl 
— a  sacred  legacy — to  her  twin-sister's  keeping,  exact- 
ing from  her  a  promise  that  she  would  never  be  over- 
persuaded  to  abandon  her  to  the  care  of  hirelings ; 
that  while  Corinne  lived  her  household  should  be 
Lucile's  also.  Corinne  gave  the  pledge  without  visi- 
ble hesitation.  She  was  alone  with  the  sick  woman. 
There  was  no  one  by  to  remind  the  parent  of  the 
blight  she  was  laying  upon  her  child's  life,  to  remon- 
strate against  a  sacrifice  so  disproportioned  to  the  end 
to  be  gained,  or  to  mark  how  deadly  white  grew  the 
girl's  face  as  she  made  the  vow.  For  Aleck  Lloyd  and 
she  were  troth-plight  even  then,  and  the  mother  knew 
it.  In  the  death-hour  she  remembered  it,  perhaps 
with  futile  misgivings,  for  her  eyes  turned  wistfully  to 
the  faithful  daughter  nearest  her  pillow. 

"About  Lulu,"  she  whispered.  "  If  there  were  any 
other  way,  if  Aleck  should  not  like  it — but  if  he  really 
loves  you  he  will  not  mind!  You  will  watch  over 
her,  will  you  not  ?  Nobody  else  cares  for  the  poor 
darling." 

"  My  home  shall  be  hers  while  she  and  I  live,"  re- 
peated Corinne,  steadily.  She  had  sworn  to  her  own 
hurt,  but  she  changed  not  at  the  united  expostulations 
of  brothers,  sisters  and  friends ;  went  not  back  from 
her  word  when  her  betrothed  husband  besought  her 
to  lift  the  shadow  from  his  path  and  hers,  to  delegate 
to  others  the  heavier  duties  involved  by  her  accept- 


One  Old  Maid.  337 

ance  of  the  trust.  Without  violation  of  her  pledge  to 
her  mother  she  might  engage  a  keeper — a  trustworthy 
person,  who  could  be  with  the  imbecile  night  and  day 
— and  her  asylum  be  his  house. 

"  Ours,  dearest,  for  in  the  sight  of  heaven  you  are 
my  wife.  Have  mercy  upon  me  !  Be  just  to  your- 
self !  Is  it  right  to  bind  down  your  free,  full  life  to 
such  a  service  ?  To  crucify  your  heart  that  an  idiot 
girl  who  cannot  appreciate  your  devotion  may  not  be 
subjected  to  the  trifling  pain  of  being  tended  by  a 
stranger  ?  " 

"  I  see  now  more  plainly  than  I  ever  did  before 
that  she  would  be  a  curse  in  any  home  but  mine,"  was 
the  sadly-patient  rejoinder.  "  I  will  not  take  her  into 
yours,  Aleck ;  I  love  you  too  truly  for  that." 

Within  a  month  after  the  mother's  death  the  twins 
were  left  to  themselves  in  the  old  house.  Mrs.  Boyle 
had  willed  it  to  them  with  a  sufficient  sum  for  their 
support.  The  other  daughters  were  married ;  the 
brothers  settled  elsewhere.  Aleck  Lloyd  went  "  out 
West."  The  words  were  a  synonym  for  "  lost "  at  the 
date  when  the  Boyle  homestead  was  in  a  fashionable 
locality.  It  was  out  of  the  world  now,  and  so  were 
the  inmates.  For  twenty-tour  years  the  twain  had 
lived  there  together  without  other  companionship 
than  such  servants  as  could  be  hired  to  assist  in  the 
work  of  an  establishment  to  which  there  was  such  an 
objectional  appendage  as  the  mischievous,  mindless 
"  Lulu."  Mattie  had,  as  she  put  it,  "  stuck  it  out  "  for 
ten  years  as  "  help,"  not  servant.  She  liked  to  rule  ; 
and  in  consideration  of  her  privileges  in  this  respect 
she  stayed  on  from  month  to  month,  always  grum, 
15 


338  One  Old  Maid. 

bling,  and  making   herself  at  once  indispensable  and 
terrible  to  the  nominal  mistress. 

Twenty-four  years!  Aunt  Co  thought  them  over 
when  the  tea-tray  had  been  removed  and  she  had  put 
Lulu  to  bed  and  waited  to  see  her  sound  asleep.  Her 
time  was  at  her  own  disposal  for  some  hours.  The 
fire  burned  brightly  in  the  sitting-room.  Sharp  Mattie 
was  as  neat  as  her  mistress,  and  the  old-fashioned  fur- 
niture was  in  irreproachable  condition,  dustless  and 
shining.  The  curtains  were  dropped,  the  reading- 
lamp  was  on  a  table  in  front  of  the  grate,  and  a  rock- 
ing-chair beside  it.  Miss  Boyle  understood  the  prac- 
tice of  many  small  economies.  She  was  not  as  rich  as 
when  her  mother  left  her  this  house  and  the  rent  of 
certain  others.  Her  property  had  depreciated  in  value 
until  her  income  just  met  the  necessary  expenses  of 
the  small  family.  She  never  complained ;  and  her 
wealthier  kinspeople  spoke  approvingly  of  her  modest 
wants  and  thrifty  management,  and  made  her  New- 
Year's  presents  of  hot-house  fruit  and  sweetmeats. 
She  made  over  these  to  Mattie  and  Lulu.  But  she 
did  like  to  read.  A  new  book  was  a  Lethean  spring, 
in  sipping  which  she  forgot  time  and  care.  One  lay 
on  the  stand  now — a  gift  from  Effie,  who  "  found  it 
too  solemn  for  her  taste,"  and  amiably  handed  it  over 
to  her' novel-reading  aunt.  The  title  was  "Waiting 
for  the  Verdict,"  and  a  little  silver  paper-cutter  Aleck 
had  given  her  was  laid  between  the  leaves  against  a 
spirited  wood-cut  of  a  kneeling  woman  ;  her  arms 
crossed  on  the  sill  of  an  open  window,  her  head  em- 
braced by  them.  Her  hair  floated  wide,  and  the  tense 
clasp  of  the  locked  hands  told  the  intensity  of  her 


One  Old  Maid.  339 

supplication.  Underneath  was  written,  "THOU  know- 
est  I  have  need  of  these  things  !  " 

Aunt  Co  adjusted  her  eye-glass  and  scanned  the 
print  long  and  fixedly.  The  book  sank  gradually  to 
her  knee  ;  the  eye-glass  fell  into  the  place  of  the  silver 
marker.  No  need  of  that  to  read  the  record  of  the 
four-and-twenty  years  stretching  in  monotonous  drear- 
iness between  her  and  all  she  could  rightly  term  life. 
Youth  was  gone  forever,  and  all  of  beauty  and  grace 
and  sprightliness  she  had  ever  possessed.  It  was  as  if 
a  butterfly  had  folded  its  wings  tightly  and  been  fas- 
tened again  into  the  chrysalis.  Whims  and  habits — 
little  "  old-maidisms  " — learned  in  her  straight  and 
eventless  existence — clung  to  her  like  barnacles  to  a 
becalmed  ship.  •  The  petty,  oftentimes  annoying,  of- 
tener  ludicrous  peculiarities  that  incrust  the  characters 
of  so  many  single  women,  are  not  always  the  offspring 
of  selfishness.  They  seem  to  me  more  like  dead 
shoots  that  would  have  been  noble,  beneficent  growth, 
had  not  circumstances  stifled  them  in  their  birth. 

"  I  am  different  from  most  people,"  said  the  dreamer 
to  herself,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  "  Different  from 
what  I  once  was.  Most  different  from  what  I  might 
have  been  had  the  Lord  appointed  to  me  the  lot  I 
would  have  chosen  for  myself.  It's  past  my  finding 
out.  He  knows  I  have  needs,  too,"  glancing  at  the 
book.  "  Somehow  I  feel  them  more  than  usual  to- 
night. I  suppose  it  was  seeing  them  all  so  happy  at 
Juliana's — and  Emma  and  Mr.  Rowland — Bless  me  ! " 
aloud.  "  That  is  the  door-bell !  Somebody  wanting 
to  inquire  the  way  to  somebody  else's  house,  prob- 
ably." 


340  One  Old  Maid. 

But  after  the  front  door  opened  a  man's  footsteps 
came  along  the  hall.  Getting  up  in  a  flutter,  she 
shook  out  the  skirt  of  her  black  alpaca  and  adjusted 
her  head-piece  of  brown  ribbon.  Announcements 
were  a  refinement  of  etiquette  unknown  to  Mattie. 
She  merely  pushed  back  the  door,  said  huskily, 
"  There  she  be,"  and  returned  to  the  kitchen  fire. 

"  Is  this  Miss  Corinne  Boyle  ?  " 

She  saw  nothing  but  the  hand,  half-extended,  after 
she  heard  the  unforgotten  voice  that  hailed  her  ear, 
and,  it  seemed,  her  soul  also. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  ask,  Aleck,"  faltered  the  poor 
lady,  standing  stock  still  by  the  chair  from  which  she 
had  arisen ;  "  but  I  should  have  known  you  any- 
where." 

Then — she  was  ashamed  of  it  even  while  the  excite- 
ment of  the  meeting  was  fresh  upon  her — she  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  cried  heartily.  The  soft- 
hearted Westerner  came  down  at  once  from  the  stilts 
of  comparative  strangerhood.  He  made  her  sit  down, 
helped  himself  to  a  chair  and  begged  her  to  compose 
herself. 

"  I  should  not  have  come  in  upon  you  unexpect- 
edly," he  said,  and  went  on  to  tell  how,  being  in  town 
for  a  day  or  two,  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
calling  to  see  a  few  of  his  oldest  friends ;  and  how  he 
had  just  missed  her  at  Mr.  Scriba's.  "  I  had  a  delight- 
ful visit  there.  What  a  charming  family  your  sister 
has !  Emma  reminded  me  of  you,"  he  added. 

By  this  time  it  was  safe  to  lower  the  handkerchief 
and  apologize  for  her  nervousness.  They  talked  for 
an  hour  after  that ;  of  old  acquaintances  and  old 


One  Old  Maid.  341 

times,  and  the  changes  that  had  come  into  their  lives 
— especially  his — since  they  parted.  Talked  as  elderly 
friends — nothing  more.  This  was  not  the  woman 
whose  image  Aleck  Lloyd  had  kept  locked  away  in  the 
far-in  chamber  of  heart  and  memory  for  the  twenty 
years  in  which  another  woman  had  called  him  hus- 
band ;  which  he  had  brought  forth  to  the  light,  and 
studied  of  late  until  he  had  obeyed  the  ardent  impulse 
that  urged  him  to  seek  and  woo  her  if  she  was  still 
single.  He  had  come  to  her  from  the  gladness  and 
beauty  of  her  sister's  home,  the  treasured  picture  the 
fairer  and  more  distinct  after  seeing  pretty,  modest 
Emma,  saying  to  himself  as  he  hurried  along,  "  We 
were  made  for  each  other,  I  will  make  her  believe  this." 
He  was  met  by  a  prim,  neutral-tinted  spinster,  who 
towered  up  lankly  and  bonily  for  an  instant,  then 
dropped  into  a  chair,  without  touching  the  back,  and 
cried  into  a  starched  handkerchief  until  her  prominent 
nose  was  red.  The  shock  killed  love,  and  romance  fled 
affrighted  out  of  sight.  He  could  not  squeeze  the  hand 
half  covered  with  a  black  silk  mitt.  It  would  have 
been  absurd  to  put  his  arm  around  the  flat  perpendic- 
ular of  her  waist.  Cured  were  the  passion  and  the 
pain  of  expectancy ;  gone  like  a  mist  was  the  dream 
of  reunion  and  constant  companionship.  Something 
besides  duty  put  and  held  them  asunder  now.  What 
a  fool  !  what  a  sentimental  simpleton  he  had  been  to 
forget  that  a  woman  must  fade  fast  in  a  life  like  hers ! 
fade,  and  shrivel,  and  dry  into  hardness  !  He  was 
very  kind  with  all  this  going  on  within  him  ;  so  sorry 
for  her  in  her  isolation  that  some  sweet  drops  of  com- 
fort dropped  through  his  talk  into  the  starving  heart. 


342  One  Old  Maid. 

"  I  may  not  see  you  again  soon,"  he  said,  rising  at 
half-past  nine.  "  Perhaps  never  again  in  this  world, 
for  our  ways  lie  far  apart." 

"  Far,  indeed,"  echoed  his  heart  drearily  over  the 
crumbled  image. 

"  But  I  wish  you  would  let  me  help  you  feel  that  I 
had  been  of  some  use  to  you  before  we  part." 

A  silvery  tinkle  on  the  marble-topped  table  diverted 
his  eye  from  the  face  that  was  very  gray  and  wan  in 
the  lamp-light,  and  strange,  with  the  bunches  of  curls 
he  had  thought  a  bewitching  setting  for  it  when  it  was 
young  and  rosy,  which  were  wiry  corkscrews  now. 
The  book-marker  had  fallen  off  a  pile  of  books  where 
Miss  Boyle  had  laid  it.  He  took  it  up ;  looked  at  it 
intently  as  it  lay  in  his  palm. 

"You  have  kept  it  all  this  while,  Corinne  ?" 

She  did  not  speak.  Knowing  that  he  was  going 
from  her  again — and  why — how  could  she  ? 

"  It  was  a  happy  time,"  mused  the  disenchanted 
lover  to  himself,  not  to  her,  although  he  spoke  aloud. 
"  So  fair,  it  grieves  one  to  think  it  is  dead  with  so 
many  other  dear  and  beautiful  things.  Yours  is  a  sad 
lot,  dear  old  friend.  I  wish  I  could  comfort  you  in 
some  way ;  do  something  to  lessen  your  privations,  or 
give  you  pleasure." 

"  I  do  not  complain.  I  have  fallen  into  the  Lord's 
hand,  not  that  of  man,"  Miss  Boyle  said  meekly,  look- 
ing up  at  him.  "  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty  in  a 
humble  sphere,  but  still  it  was  duty.  I  know  my  best 
friends  have  blamed  me — do  blame  me.  It  has  trou- 
bled me  sometimes  that  they  didn't  see  things  as  I  do, 
but  I  have  this  great  cause  for  thankfulness  :  The  Lord 


One  Old  Maid.  343 

has  never  let  me  doubt  for  a  moment  that  I  was  bear- 
ing the  cross  He  meant  for  me  and  for  nobody  else. 
It  would  have  been  a  great  deal  harder  had  I  ever  im- 
agined that  I  had  gotten  hold  of  the  wrong  one. 
And  there  are  compensations.  The  poor  child  is  very 
fond  of  me.  It  keeps  up  one's  heart  to  know  that 
one  is  absolutely  necessary  to  some  living  creature. 
She  couldn't  get  along  without  me." 

"  This  is  all  the  comfort  she  has.  This  persuasion 
is  all  the  fruit  of  her  twenty-four  years  of  bondage," 
thought  Aleck  Lloyd,  as  he  tramped  back  to  his  hotel 
with  a  great  void  in  his  heart.  "  Heaven  help  her  !  " 

Miss  Boyle  turned  out  the  light,  looked  at  the  grate 
to  see  that  the  fire  was  safe,  at  the  windows  to  be  sure 
they  were  fastened,  and  went  slowly  up-stairs.  The 
gates  of  Paradise  had  opened  a  very  little  way,  and  in 
swinging  to  had  dashed  her  to  the  ground.  The 
cross  was  heavy  and  sharp,  and  the  thongs  that  bound 
it  upon  her  very  tight  and  cruel.  Her  face  was  grayer 
and  more  drawn  as  she  made  the  arrangements  for 
the  night  in  her  chamber,  omitting  none  of  her  old- 
maidish  precautions  and  "  notions."  When  she  knelt 
to  pray  the  faded  lips  parted  for  the  first  time  since 
she  had  said  "  Good-by"  to  Aleck. 

"  THOU  knowest  I  have  need  of  these  things,"  she 
groaned.  "THOU  knowest !  THOU  knowest!  " 

It  was  the  drowning  wretch's  death-clutch  at  the 
rock.  She  felt  it  beneath  her — a  sure  foundation — 
when,  far  into  the  night  that  had  been  for  her  sleep- 
less, the  mindless  creature  who  had  not  slept  away 
from  her  side  in  all  these  years  stirred  and  cried  out 
in  a  distressing  nightmare. 


344  One  Old  Maid. 

"  Yes,  my  baby,"  as  her  hand  was  caught  fast  by  the 
dreamer.  "  Sister  knows." 

The  words  came  involuntarily  to  her  lips,  but  they 
broke  the  spell  of  the  dumb  anguish.  Slowly  through 
the  thick  darkness  the  light  of  the  better  knowledge 
dawned. 

"  Sister  knows ! "  She  said  it  a  hundred  times  a  day. 
It  meant  protection,  strength,  sympathy,  whatever 
was  loving  and  reassuring.  The  imbecile  did  not 
grasp  the  full  import  of  it ;  understood  neither  the 
extent  of  her  will  nor  her  power  to  serve  her,  but  the 
mere  sound  quieted  her. 

"  She  trusts  me  as  I  ought  to  trust  my  Heavenly 
Father.  I  am  in  His  sight  as  ignorant  and  helpless 
as  she  is  in  mine.  As  she  gropes  for  me  in  the  dark- 
ness, help  me,  LORD,  to  feel  after  THEE  ;  and  when  I 
have  found  THEE,  to  hold  !  " 

My  story  has  preached  its  sermon.  Sad — is  it,  dear 
and  patient  readers?  I  grant  it;  sad  and  yet  so  true 
that  my  heart  has  ached  in  the  writing  as  it  did  in  the 
hearing  of  the  simple  tale  of  the  heroism  of  a  lowly 
heart  in  one  of  life's  by-places.  In  my  short-sighted- 
ness I  would — had  this  been  a  fancy  sketch — have 
given  Corinne's  history  a  happier  ending.  And  yet 
when  she  has  passed  through  the  mire  and  frost  (for 
she  still  lives  upon  the  earth),  when  no  longer  tired  and 
sore,  she  finds  all  the  goods  of  which  she  had  need 
here  with  greater  and  more  abundant  riches  in  the 
light  and  warmth  and  companionships  of  the  "  other 
side,"  she  may  think  that  the  tenderest  love  could 
have  awarded  her  no  more  blessed  portion  even  in 
this  life  than  to  "  touch  and  hold." 


NURSE  BROWN'S  STORY. 


PART    I. 

I  KNOW  you  feel  real  bad,  dear,  but  when  you've 
got  so  much  left  to  be  thankful  for,  isn't  it  a  pity  to 
grieve  so  for  what's  gone  and  can't  come  back  ?  " 

I  turned  my  face  on  the  pillow  fretfully,  and  the 
tears  that  had  been  collecting  under  my  eyelids  over- 
flowed upon  my  cheeks.  They  were  not  the  first  by 
many  I  had  shed  that  day.  The  weather  was  wet  and 
dark;  my  husband  was  away  from  home;  and  for 
two  whole  days  I  had  seen  no  human  faces  except 
those  of  my  servants  and  the  nurse  who  had  attended 
me  through  my  six  weeks'  confinement  to  my  room. 

It  had  been  six  weeks  to  a  day  on  that  wild  March 
afternoon  since  my  baby  came — the  baby  that  never 
breathed,  whom  I  never  saw.  It  was  laid  under  the 
snow  before  I  awoke  to  consciousness  after  the  fierce 
convulsions  had  spent  their  force.  I  was  almost  well 
now,  able  to  walk  across  my  chamber-floor,  to  sit  up 
most  of  the  day  and  to  see  a  few  intimate  friends  ;  but 
not  allowed  to  read  or  work  on  account  of  my  un- 
steady brain.  And  having  nothing  else  to  do  I  moped 
sadly  and  perversely.  Some  women  do  not  care  for 
or  want  babies.  I  did.  In  imagination  I  had  held 
345  '5* 


346  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

mine  in  my  arms  a  thousand  times ;  dreamed  a  thou. 
sand  times  of  his  pretty  tricks  and  winning  wiles ;  saw 
him  creeping,  walking,  talking,  going  to  school,  to  col- 
lege— a  stately  man,  supporting  his  gray-haired  mother 
with  his  strong  arm.  All  this  I  had  lost,  you  see, 
with  the  tiny  baby  that  had  not  once  opened  his  eyes 
upon  my  face.  People  talked  lightly  of  my  loss,  even 
those  who  had  children  of  their  own,  and  this  lack  of 
sympathy  with  my  sorrow  made  me  sullen.  It  was 
nothing  to  anybody  else  that  I  suffered,  not  even  to 
Charley,  although  my  loss  was  his  also.  But  then  he 
had  not  had  time  to  get  acquainted  with  baby  as  I 
had  during  all  those  months  <•  of  sewing  and  waiting 
and  castle-building. 

I  was  thinking  of  these  and  other  sad  things,  lying 
upon  the  lounge,  and  seeming  to  watch  the  naked 
boughs  of  the  cherry-tree  outside  the  window  as  it 
wrestled  with  the  wind  and  bowed  before  the  fitful 
sweep  of  the  rain.  The  rain  that  was  falling  upon  the 
wee  mound  where  my  hopes  were  buried — the  short 
low  heap  of  earth  I  saw  all  the  while,  by  day  and  by 
night,  which  nobody  else  remembered !  How  often 
within  the  last  month  had  I  said  over  to  myself  the 
simple  words  written  to  me  by  a  friend  whose  sixth 
child  had  died  before  it  was  a  month  old  : — 

"  The  days  drag  by  wearily  over  my  aching  heart 
and  empty  arms." 

That  was  just  it !  The  empty  arms  telling  the 
whole  story  of  the  heartache  that  would  not  be  com- 
forted. The  phrase  was  in  my  mind  when  my  nurse 
broke  the  silence  of  the  room  by  her  timid  remon- 
strance. She  was  a  quiet  and  hitherto  reticent  wo- 


Nurse  Browris  Story.  347 

man,  past  middle  age,  and  to  my  notion  as  common- 
place a  person  as  I  had  ever  met.  Charley  had  sev- 
eral times  hinted  his  regret  that  I  had  not  a  younger 
and  liv.elier  attendant ;  but  she  was  gentle,  patient  and 
diligent,  and  I  invariably  assured  him  I  had  no  cause 
of  complaint.  She  was  darning  his  stockings,  I  recol- 
lect, as  she  interrupted  my  musings  ;  sitting  bolt  up- 
right in  a  low  chair, — a  prim  little  figure  dressed  in  a 
snuff-colored  merino,  her  usual  afternoon  attire,  and 
which  I  detested.  Her  hair  was  gray  and  combed 
away  smoothly  from  her  temples  to  the  back  of  her 
head,  where  it  was  twisted  into  a  queer  little  hard 
knot.  She  had  the  sallow  complexion  common  to 
American  women  who  have  not  gained  flesh  with  ad- 
vancing age.  I  had  a  foolish  hankering  in  those  days 
to  have  pleasant-looking  people  as  well  as  inanimate 
objects  about  me.  I  called  it  a  love  of  the  beautiful. 
Maybe  it  was,  but  it  was  selfish  for  all  that. 

"  '  So  much  to  be  thankful  for ! "'  I  repeated. 
"That  is  what  everybody  tells  me.  It  is  very  easy  to 
preach  to  other  people,  but  each  heart  knoweth  its 
own  bitterness." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  my  companion,  meekly.  "  Yet 
those  who  are  worst  off  get  no  more  than  the  best  of 
us  deserve.  Many's  the  time  I've  justified  the  Lord's 
doings  with  that  saying  when  it  seemed  as  if  all  His 
waves  and  His  billows  were  a-going  over  me." 

Her  humility  made  me  ashamed  of  my  crossness  ; 
her  allusion  to  her  own  griefs  moved  me  to  a  faint  de- 
gree of  interest. 

"  Have  you  had  much  trouble,  then,  Mrs.  Brown?" 
I  asked  more  respectfully. 


343  Nurse  Browns  Story. 

4<  Trouble,  dear !  So  much  it's  a  miracle  of  the 
Lord's  strengthening  mercy  that  I  am  alive  this  hour." 

"  Did  you  ever  lose  a  child  ? "  I  ventured,  for  her 
manner  invited  inquiry. 

"  One a  dear  lamb,  three  years  old— my  first.  He 

has  been  with  the  Good  Shepherd  thirty-five  years 
come  the  fifteenth  of  May.  He  may  be  a  man  grown 
in  heaven  ;  he'll  always  be  '  little  Eben  '  to  me.  But 
that  was  what  I  call  a  soft  sorrow — one  that  opens  the 
heart,  and  lets  the  tears  run  easy  and  plenty  of  them. 
That  isn't  the  sort  that  breaks  the  spirit  and  fairly 
withers  one  up  through  and  through." 

"  Withers  one  up  !  "  The  words  struck  me.  They 
expressed  what  I  had  thought  when  I  first  saw  her. 
She  was  not  hard  although  uninteresting.  Nor  was 
she  coarse  or  homely.  She  looked  withered ;  like  a 
fruit  that  had  once  been  plump  and  sweet,  out  of 
which  the  sap  had  been  dried  by  frost  or  heat. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  I.  "  It  doesn't  seem  to 
me  I  could  bear  any  more  than  has  been  laid  upon  me 
lately." 

"  Would  you  think  me  too  free  if  I  was  to  tell  you 
a  little  bit  of  my  story?  "  she  resumed,  after  a  pause. 
"  It's  been  borne  in  upon  my  mind  very  hard  all  day. 
Perhaps  it's  meant  for  me  to  talk  it  out  to  you  and  to 
do  you  good.  Such  thoughts  are  generally  sent  a  pur- 
pose. Nothing  happens  by  chance  to  the  Father's  chil- 
dren. That's  a  blessed  thing  to  know  and  to  think  on." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  your  history.  I  always  en- 
joy tales  of  real  life,"  I  said  patronizingly,  yet  sin- 
cerely enough. 

Not  that  I  supposed  she  had  anything  to  narrate 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  349 

that  could  entertain  me  particularly,  but  I  was  not 
displeased  at  the  prospect  of  hearkening  to  something 
that  would  cause  me  to  forget  for  a  while  the  wind 
crying  in  the  chimney  and  at  the  keyholes,  like  a 
baby-spirit  that  had  lost  its  way  in  the  storm.  It  kept 
me  thinking  against  my  will  of  the  gloomy  supersti- 
tion that  condemns  the  souls  of  unbaptized  infants  to 
wander  and  wail  forever  in  the  outer  darkness. 

"  It's  thirty-nine  years  to-morrow  since  I  was  mar- 
ried the  first  time,"  she  began  without  further  preface. 
"  Maybe  you  never  heard  I  had  been  married  twice  ? 
My  husband's  name  was  Eben  King,  and  I  mind  that 
Andrew  Brown  was  our  first  groomsman.  We  had 
four,  and  four  bridesmaids  ;  and  my  father,  for  all  he 
was  a  mechanic,  gave  us  what  was  for  people  in  our 
circumstances  and  in  those  times  a  real  nice  wedding. 
My  dress  was  Swiss  muslin,  with  white  sash  and  shoes  ; 
and  he  wore  a  full  suit  of  blue,  except  for  his  white 
waistcoat  and  such  a  ruffled  shirt-bosom  as  you  don't 
see  now-a-days.  He  was  always  gentlemanly-looking, 
and  carried  himself  like  a  lord,  and  was  altogether  the 
handsomest  man  at  the  wedding.  We  had  been  keep- 
ing company  four  years.  I  couldn't  understand  then, 
no  more'n  I  can  now  what  first  made  him  like  me.  I 
was  never  a  pretty  girl,  although  I  was  'counted  to 
have  a  genteel  figure,  and  my  teeth  and  hair  were 
good,  and  I  had  an  easy  temper  besides  being  very 
handy  with  my  needle.  I  had  just  learned  the  milli- 
ner's trade  with  Mrs.  Bobbinet,  who  used  to  keep  a 
millinery  and  fancy  store  on  Broad  Street  above 
Cedar.  The  house  is  torn  down  now,  but  it  was 
a  neat  place  in  its  time.  I  saw  some  of  my  hap- 


350  Nurse  Browns  Story. 

piest  days  there,  for  Mrs.  Bobbinet  was  not  overstrict, 
although  very  particular  about  her  girls'  morals  and 
modest  behavior.  I  boarded  at  home  with  my  father 
and  step-mother,  and  Eben  used  to  come  to  the  shop 
for  me  every  night  if  he  could  get  away  from  his 
business  in  time.  Mrs.  Bobbinet  would  ask  him  into 
the  parlor,  and  talk  to  him  while  I  put  my  things  on. 
She  said  a  great  many  good  words  for  me  to  him,  I 
guess,  and  she  allowed  to  me  once  and  again  that  she 
didn't  think  I  could  do  better.  We  all  attended  the 
same  church ;  she  and  my  parents,  and  Eben  and  I. 
He  and  I  'joined'  the  same  Sunday.  He  was  very 
active  in  the  Sabbath  School,  and  sung  in  the  choir. 
You  wouldn't  believe  what  a  beautiful  voice  he  had. 
I  never  hear  '  Denmark  '  or  '  Lenox '  sung  now  that  I 
don't  find  myself  a-listening  for  him  on  the  bass.  All 
my  friends  were  in  favor  of  the  match,  and  as  for  me, 
why,  he  was  just  perfection  in  my  eyes.  He  was  a 
clerk  in  a  dry-goods  store  when  I  first  knew  him,  and 
after  a  deal  of  planning  and  talking  among  us  all  it 
was  settled  that  we  should  set  up  a  fancy  haberdash- 
ery when  we  were  married.  We  had  no  bridal  tower ^ 
but  the  day  after  the  wedding  we  took  possession  of 
our  house.  Such  a  cosy  home  it  was !  Back  of  the 
shop  was  a  dining-parlor,  where  we  ate  and  s^at,  and 
saw  the  few  friends  who  called  to  see  us  and  where  I 
did  all  my  fancy  sewing.  The  kitchen  was  behind  this 
— small  but  convenient.  I  didn't  need  a  larger  seeing 
I  did  all  my  own  work,  and  there  were  just  we  two. 
Up-stairs  was  our  bedroom  over  the  shop,  and  a  wee 
bit  of  a  spare  bedchamber.  That  was  all.  But,  dear 
me !  we  shouldn't  have  known  what  to  do  with  more 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  351 

room.  And  I  may  say  I  shouldn't  have  known  what 
to  do  with  more  happiness  that  first  year,  my  heart 
was  so  full.  I  worked  hard  to  be  sure,  rising  up 
early  and  lying  down  late,  but  I  ate  the  bread  of 
cheerfulness  instead  of  carefulness. 

"  By  nine  o'clock  the  housework  was  all  done  up, 
and  luncheon  set  ready  in  the  pantry  against  we 
should  want  it  at  twelve  o'clock.  I  studied  to  get  up 
all  manner  of  nice  little  dishes  to  please  Eben,  who 
had  a  real  gentleman's  taste  about  these  matters,  and 
when  noon  came,  however  busy  I  might  be,  I  always 
contrived  to  set  the  table  in  regular  style  ;  to  have  the 
cloth  clean  and  the  silver  bright.  He  noticed  every- 
thing, and  it  would  have  mortified  me  terribly  to  have 
him  find  fault  with  my  housekeeping.  He  tended  the 
store  and  when  there  were  more  customers  than  he 
could  wait  on,  he  would  call  me  in.  I  was  naturally 
bashful,  but  I  got  to  liking  to  be  at  the  same  counter 
with  him — he  had  such  elegant  manners  and  was  so 
much  respected.  It  made  my  heart  puff  with  pride 
to  notice  how  polite  the  ladies  were  to  him,  and  what 
pretty  language  he  always  used  to  them.  He  was 
very  popular,  as  you  may  suppose,  and  Mrs.  Bobbinet 
had  a  way  of  naming  me  to  her  customers  that  threw 
as  much  work  in  my  way  as  I  could  do — such  as  em- 
broidery in  silk  and  cotton,  baby-clothes,  collars,  caps, 
and  so  on.  I  was  chirpy  as  a  cricket,  sitting  in  that 
little  back  room,  stitching  away  for  dear  life,  with  the 
door  open  between  that  and  the  store,  and  Eben 
never  out  of  sight  or  hearing  from  morning  until 
night.  We  shut  up  at  seven  o'clock  every  day  except 
Saturday  and  had  something  hearty  and  nourishing 


352  Nurse  Browns  Story. 

for  supper.  Then  I  washed  up  the  dishes,  and  got  all 
ready  for  morning,  while  Eben  settled  the  day's  ac- 
counts. I  learned  how  to  do  it  from  looking  on.  I 
was  never  a  quick  scholard,  but  I  caught  an  idea  from 
him  very  easy — got  it  by  heart  so  to  speak.  After 
that  we  went  out  for  a  walk  in  all  weathers  except  the 
very  worst.  There's  streets  and  squares  I  could  show 
you  in  this  town  where  I  haven't  dared  to  walk  in 
more'n  thirty  years  ;  they  put  me  so  in  mind  of  old 
times.  But  they  were  like  the  green  pastures  beside 
the  still  waters  in  those  days.  We  laughed  and  talked 
like  two  children  let  out  from  school  while  we  strolled 
along,  and  when  we  did  speak  of  business,  'twas  always 
to  say  how  nicely  we  were  getting  along,  and  how  we'd 
live  snug  and  equinomical  for  some  years  to  come, 
until  we  could  buy  a  store  and  house  of  our  own.  We 
didn't  care  to  be  rich.  We  only  wanted  to  make  a 
respectable  living,  and  to  lay  up  a  hundred  dollars  or 
so  every  year  in  the  Savings  Bank. 

"  By  and  by  we  began  to  plan  for  the  children  we 
hoped  were  coming.  I  often  hear  ladies  with  houses 
full  of  servants  and  as  much  money  as  they  can  spend 
fret  at  the  prospect  of  an  increase  of  family,  because 
it  is  such  a  troOble  and  expense.  We  didn't  feel  so, 
although  my  time  was  money  and  Eben  couldn't  af- 
ford to  hire  help  for  me  or  for  himself.  I  was  happier 
than  ever  when  I  was  able  to  be  down-stairs  again  at 
my  stitching  and  trimming,  with  my  foot  upon  the 
rocker  of  my  boy's  cradle  ;  so  glad  and  proud  of  him, 
and  that  he  was  as  like  his  father  as  two  peas  !  A 
better  tempered,  sweeter  baby  never  lived.  He  was 
next  to  no  trouble  at  all.  By  the  time  he  was  six 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  353 

months  old  he  would  roll  about  the  floor,  playing 
with  his  ball  and  rattle  for  two  or  three  hours  at  a 
time,  without  asking  me  to  do  more  than  speak  to  or 
smile  at  him  once  in  a  while.  It  was  lucky  he  was  so 
forward,  for  in  just  eighteen  months  my  little  Ruthie 
was  born.  I  had  two  children  when  I  was  twenty- 
one.  I  had  to  fly  around  brisk  enough  then  you  may 
be  sure  to  keep  things  going  straight.  I  don't  think 
my  business  took  any  harm  from  the  babies,  but  I  got 
weakly,  what  with  nursing  my  girl,  and  being  kept 
awake  at  night  with  little  Eby's  teeth,  and  getting  up 
by  daybreak  to  sweep,  and  dust,  and  bake,  so's  to  be 
able  to  dress  both  children  and  have  breakfast  over 
before  customers  began  to  call.  Eben  worried  over 
my  losing  flesh,  and  not  having  any  appetite,  and  when 
at  last  I  had  a  dreadful  faint  spell  in  the  middle  of  a 
hot  August  day,  he  would  call  in  a  doctor.  They  had 
a  long  talk  in  private  about  me,  and  the  upshot  was 
that  I  must  drink  port  wine  and  take  bark,  and  have 
in  somebody  to  help  me  in  the  hardest  part  of  my 
work,  for  the  doctor  would  have  it  that  I  was  killing 
myself  fast. 

"  The  Lord  forgive  me !  but  I've  wished  a  million 
times  I  had  gone  clean  off  in  that  faint,  and  never 
come  to  in  this  world  !  I  wanted  to  live  then  for  my 
husband  and  children's  sake,  and  I  took  the  medicines 
and  tried  hard  to  think  it  did  me  good,  and  to  per- 
suade Eben  that  I  was  getting  stronger. 

"  One  day  my  step-mother  came  to  see  me  with  a 
letter  in  her  hand.  'This  is  what  I  call  a  Providence, 
Becky,'  says  she.  And  she  read  to  me  how  my  great- 
aunt  on  my  mother's  side  was  dead.  The  letter  was 


354  Nurse  Brown  s  Story. 

from  my  sister  Lizzie,  who  had  been  adopted  by  her 
when  my  own  mother  died,  and  lived  with  her  con- 
stant ever  since.  She  was  three  years  younger  than 
me,  and  I  was  just  twenty-two.  I  hadn't  seen  her 
since  she  was  fourteen,  for  my  aunt  lived  in  Ohio,  and 
we  had  no  money  to  spend  in  travelling.  She  was 
dead  now,  and  there  was  no  will  though  everybody 
thought  there  would  be,  and  Lizzie  had  been  raised  to 
expect  a  good  share  of  her  property.  The  children 
and  grandchildren  came  in  for  it  all ;  and  Lizzie  had 
no  home  without  father  sent  for  her,  and  nothing  ex- 
cept her  clothes  and  such  trifles  as  the  heirs  would  let 
her  bring  away  with  her. 

"  '  The  very  thing  for  you  ! '  my  step-mother  says  to 
me.  '  There  isn't  so  much  as  a  spare  bed  in  our 
house,  and  me  and  my  girls  do  up  the  work,  sewing 
and  all.  And  seeing  she  is  your  only  own  sister  it 
does  seem  a  leading  of  Providence  that  you  should 
take  her  right  in  here,  now  you  are  poorly  and  obliged 
to  have  somebody  to  lend  a  hand.' 

"  It  wasn't  very  warm  weather,  and  I  was  sitting  by 
an  open  window,  but  I  got  deadly  sick  all  of  a  sudden. 

"  '  Mother,'  says  I,  '  it  seems  so  close  and  shut-up- 
like  here,  I  can  hardly  get  my  breath.  Our  rooms  are 
very  small  and  there's  very  few  of  them.  Now  the 
children  are  here,  we  can  hardly  turn  around  without 
stepping  on  them.  I  am  willing  to  help  Lizzie  all  I 
can.  I'll  allow  her  half  I  earn  to  pay  her  board,  and 
I  know  Mrs.  Bobbinet  will  give  her  a  place  in  her 
work-room,  and  maybe  in  her  family,  if  I  ask  her. 
She  wants  another  girl,  for  she  told  me  so  the  other 
day.  And,'  says  I — and  very  strange  I  thought  it 


Nurse  Browns  Story.  355 

afterward  that  the  words  should  have  come  to  my 
tongue — '  I  feel  as  if  it  would  kill  me  to  have  anybody 
else  to  live  in  the  house  with  Eben  and  me." 

"  With  that  I  cried — '  like  a  fool,'  mother  said.  She 
scolded,  and  Eben  coaxed  and  begged,  and  father  he 
reasoned  in  his  sensible  way ;  and  between  them  all  I 
was  overruled  into  writing  Lizzie  a  letter  asking  her 
to  make  her  home  with  us.  It  so  happened  (I  don't 
know  as  I  ought  to  use  the  word,  but  I  hate  to  think 
that  the  Lord  ordered  it)  that  Eben  had  business  in 
Pittsburg — something  about  an  old  debt  he  had  hopes 
of  collecting — and  I  wrote  to  Lizzie  to  meet  him 
there,  and  he  would  bring  her  on  to  us. 

"  I  felt  real  bright  and  spry,  for  all  I  had  been  do- 
ing double  work  the  five  days  he  was  away,  the  even- 
ing they  got  home.  Mother  had  spent  the  afternoon 
with  me  and  taken  care  of  the  children,  so  I  had  got 
up  a  nice  supper  for  the  travellers — ham  and  eggs, 
and  coffee  and  short  cake — I  had  quite  a  name  for  my 
shortcake — and  for  dessert,  a  cracker-pudding  with 
raisins  in  it,  and  wine  sauce.  Mother  and  father  took 
supper  with  us,  and  we  had  a  merry  time.  I  couldn't 
keep  my  eyes  off  Lizzie  the  whole  evening,  she  was  so 
different  from  the  rest  of  us.  We  were  a  sober,  steady 
family,  generally,  who  didn't  set  much  store  by  finery 
and  fashion.  Mother  was  very  notional  about  our 
behavior  and  the  company  we  kept.  I  used  to  think 
she  was  too  strict  when  I  was  a  young  girl,  but  I'd 
begun  to  understand  her  better  lately.  Lizzie  was 
rigged  out  as  I  and  my  half-sisters  never  dreamed  of 
fixing  ourselves  up.  Her  travelling  dress  was  heavy 
and  dusty,  she  complained,  and  she  would  change  it 


35^  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

before  we  sat  down  to  the  table,  putting  on  in  place 
of  it  a  buff  challe,  with  pink  rose-buds  on  it.  Her 
hair  was  thick  and  dark,  almost  black,  braided  behind 
and  curled  in  front,  and  the  curls  were  looped  behind 
her  ears  with  bows  of  pink  ribbon.  She  was  dark 
complected,  a  real  brunette,  with  a  lovely  little  pink 
flush  under  the  skin,  and  her  eyes  were  like  two  fire- 
flies, they  shone  and  danced  so  ;  her  teeth  were  very 
white — that  ran-  in  the  family — and  she  laughed  a 
great  deal  besides  doing  most  of  the  talking. 

"'She's  a  regular  little  beauty,'  said  mother  one 
side  to  me  as  she  was  putting  on  her  bonnet  to  go. 
'  Keep  an  eye  on  her,  or  she'll  be  apt  to  go  wrong ; 
she's  so  flighty  and  vain.  I  wouldn't  let  her  be  much 
in  the  store  if  I  was  you  ;  it's  too  public.  Give  her 
housework  and  sewing  to  do,  and  let  her  amuse  the 
children.' 

"  Before  three  days  were  gone,  I  found  this  was 
easier  said  than  done.  She  '  hated  housework ;  it 
hardened  the  hands,  and  soiled  one's  clothes.'  She 
'  abominated  sewing  ;  it  always  gave  her  the  blues  and 
a  pain  in  her  side,'  and  she  was  '  so  stupid  about  such 
matters,  she  was  sure  she  would  spoil  the  nice  things 
sent  to  me  to  make.'  She  said  all  this  in  a  laughing 
way,  but  'twas  plain  she  meant  it.  In  the  shop  she 
was  wonderful  quick  and  '  taking '  with  the  customers 
— especially  with  the  gentlemen,  who  wanted  cravats, 
and  gloves  and  handkerchiefs.  She  didn't  get  along 
with  the  children  at  all.  They  were  always  cross  or 
got  into  mischief  when  I  left  them  with  her  while  I 
was  in  the  kitchen  or  store. 

" '  I  don't  see  why  you  trouble  yourself  with  this 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  357 

branch  of  the  business,'  says  Eben  to  me  when  Lizzie 
had  been  with  us  about  a  fortnight.  '  You  always 
preferred  to  sew,  and  the  doctor  says  it  is  bad  for 
your  back  to  be  so  much  upon  your  feet.  Your  sister 
does  well  enough  in  here  ;  better  than  she  does  in  the 
nursery  department,  if  we  are  to  judge  from  the  noise 
in  the  back  room.  I  suppose  she  has  never  been  used 
to  children,  and  has  no  knack  at  amusing  them.  I 
agreed  to  your  having  her  here  upon  condition  that 
she  should  be  made  useful,  and  I  don't  call  it  useful- 
ness when  she  increases  your  cares  by  undertaking 
what  she  can't  do  well.' 

"  I  saw  he  was  vexed — I  thought  because  I  was 
looking  badly  that  morning,  and  Eby  was  shouting 
and  baby  fretting.  We  always  tried  to  keep  the  store 
quiet  and  pleasant  for  fear  of  annoying  the  customers, 
and  for  the  same  reason  we  had  no  cooking  done  in 
the  middle  of  the  day.  I  didn't  remind  him  that  it 
was  none  of  my  doings,  bringing  anybody  else  into  the 
family.  All  he  wanted,  as  I  believed  then,  was  to 
make  things  easy  for  me,  and  it  wasn't  in  me  to  throw 
it  in  his  teeth  that  Lizzie's  coming  hadn't  done  it 
when  he'd  meant  it  for  the  best. 

"'  I'd  rather  she'd  be  in  the  store,'  I  said,  speaking 
low,  '  if  you'd  promise  to  watch  her  pretty  sharp.  She 
is  so  pretty  and  lively  and  so  ignorant  of  the  ways 
and  tricks  of  the  world,  that  mother  and  I  thought 
she'd  better  be  kept  in  the  background  out  of  the 
sight  of  the  gay  young  men.  I'd  be  loath  to  have  her 
led  astray  in  any  way. 

"  Eben  he  laughed,  and  patted  me  on  the  head. 

"'While  I  am  here,  you  needn't  be  afraid  the  gay 


358  Nurse  Browns  Story. 

young  men  will  get  a  chance  to  make  love  to  the  sis- 
ter you  think  so  handsome,'  he  says.  'There's  so 
many  prettier  girls  behind  counters,  they  won't  bother 
her  long  when  they  see  she's  got  a  brother  to  take 
care  of  her/ 

"  It  was  something  pleasanter  for  me  to  have  her 
out  of  the  way  of  my  work,  though  I  can't  say  I  had 
any  the  less  to  do.  What  with  her  washing  and  the 
extra  cooking — for  she'd  been  brought  up  delicate  and 
couldn't  relish  plain  food — I  hadn't  any  more  time  for 
sewing  than  before  she  came.  Eben  didn't  understand 
this,  and  when  I  saw  how  contented  he  was  in  the 
notion  that  I  was  really  better  off,  I  didn't  let  on  how 
matters  really  stood.  I  even  took  in  more  sewing 
than  I  had  ought  to  have  undertaken  to  make  him 
quite  satisfied  with  his  own  arrangement.  I  had  said 
to  him  before  Lizzie  came  that  she  must  not  make  his 
load  any  heavier. 

"  '  It  wouldn't  be  fair,'  says  I.  '  She  shan't  cost  you 
a  dollar.  I'll  pay  all  her  expenses  out  of  my  own  earn- 
ings and  yet  put  in  as  much  into  the  common  stock 
as  I  do  now,  for  I  shall  have  so  much  more  time  for 
fancy  work  than  I  get  now,  and  that  always  pays  well. 
I  can't  have  a  sister  of  mine  dependent  upon  my  hus- 
band.' 

"  I  kept  my  word,  and  when  I  found  that  while  she 
had  more  fine  dresses  than  suited  a  girl  in  her  station 
she  was  bad  enough  off  for  underclothes,  I  stuck  to  my 
resolution  and  sat  up  nights  until  twelve  o'clock, 
sometimes  later,  to  make  up  for  the  outlay  I  hadn't 
expected  so  soon. 

" '  There's  no  need  of  that,'  says  Eben,  when  I  done 


Nurse  Brown  s  Story.  359 

this.  '  Nobody  wants  you  to  slave  yourself  to  death. 
It's  your  own  choice.  I  wash  my  hands  of  any  share 
in  it.' 

"  And  I  couldn't  tell  him  before  Lizzie,  or  at  any 
other  time,  how  much  need  there  was  for  me  to 
stretch  every  nerve  and  seize  every  moment  if  I 
wouldn't  have  him  go  behindhand  in  his  business.  I 
did  think  myself  ill-used  in  this  sometimes,  and  cry 
when  nobody  saw  me  because  he  didn't  understand 
that  I  was  working  more  for  him  than  for  myself.  I've 
learned  since  that  many  another  woman  has  the  same 
trial  and  is  dumb  about  it. 

"  We  allowed  Lizzie  wages  for  tending  in  the  store 
when  she'd  been  with  us  a  month.  I  didn't  see  the 
economy  in  that,  particularly  as  we  had  spent  so  much 
for  her  clothes  and  I  said  so,  but  Eben  insisted. 

" '  It  isn't  just  nor  kind,'  he  said,  '  to  employ  such  a 
smart  girl  for  her  victuals  and  clothes.  She  brings 
enough  custom  to  the  store  to  pay  her  a  liberal  salary, 
if  I  was  to  give  her  a  commission  upon  her  sales.' 

"  And  when  I  held  back  still,  he  said :  '  You  women 
are  always  hard  upon  each  other,  but  I  thought  better 
of  you  than  to  suppose  you'd  grind  the  face  of  your 
own  kin  and  blood.' 

"  I  gave  up  at  that,  and  never  even  asked  him  how 
much  he  allowed  her.  It  wasn't  enough  to  clothe  her, 
I  was  made  to  understand  from  her  talk,  or  she  didn't 
use  it  for  that  purpose,  for  she  '  borrowed,'  as  she 
called  it,  of  me  every  month,  five,  ten,  sometimes  as 
much  as  twenty  dollars,  and  never  paid  it  back,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  ribbons,  collars,  and  stuff  for  other  gar- 
ments  she  had  out  of  the  store,  and  which  I  always 


360  Nurse  Brown  s  Story. 

charged  to  myself.  I  wondered  how  she  got  rid  of  her 
money  until  I  used  to  stumble  over  boxes  of  confec- 
tionery, and  fruit,  and  all  manner  of  knick-knacks  in 
her  room ;  and  every  few  weeks  she'd  flash  out  in  a 
new  dress,  or  mantle,  or  something  she'd  had  made 
out  of  the  house  unbeknownst  to  me.  I  dreaded  to 
scold  her.  I  was  timid  and  easy  to  put  down,  and 
she'd  a  high  way  with  her,  a  habit  of  taking  things 
for  granted,  that  cowed  me  from  the  first.  I  was  no 
match  for  her,  and  I  knew  it,  although  we'd  never  had 
a  bit  of  a  quarrel.  She  was  nothing  but  a  spoiled  child, 
I'd  say  to  myself,  ruined  for  every-day  life  and  hard 
work  by  the  old  aunt's  foolish  petting,  and  I  had  ought 
to  have  charity  for  her  when  her  giddy  talk  and  extra- 
vagant ways  frightened  me  who  had  been  brought  up 
so  different.  Above  all  things  I  wouldn't  find  fault 
with  her  to  Eben.  Blood  is  thicker  than  water.  She 
was  my  sister,  and  I'd  stand  up  for  her.  So  long  as  I 
took  care  he  wasn't  the  poorer  for  her  fancies  and 
follies,  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  what  she  cost  me. 
But  'twasn't  till  long  afterward  I  discovered  that  he 
suspected  I  was  stuffing  a  private  purse  of  my  own 
with  what  I  made  by  extra  work.  The  confinement 
in  the  store  told  upon  Lizzie  after  a  while.  She 
had  headaches  and  turns  of  low  spirits  and  began  to 
droop  about  the  house.  I  had  made  her  go  out  every 
day,  while  I  took  her  place  at  the  counter,  but  she 
said  '  lonely  walks  gave  her  the  horrors.'  Then  I  sent 
her  out  in  the  evenings  instead  of  asking  her  to  sit 
with  the  children  half  an  hour  or  so  while  I  got  a 
breath  of  fresh  air,  and  I  told  Ebeh  he  must  go  with 
her ;  take  her  to  a  lecture  or  a  panorama,  or  some- 


Nurse  Browris  Story.  361 

thing  now  and  then  to  freshen  her  up.  He  said  'No* 
at  first,  and  something  about  my  needing  exercise  and 
recreation,  but  a  very  little  reasoning  brought  him 
around.  Every  night  they  were  off  together,  at  last 
staying  later  and  later,  and  I  hardly  noticed  how  long 
they  were  away,  so  busy  was  I  with  the  work  I  did  on 
the  sly,  for  fear  Eben  should  guess  what  a  care  and  a 
cost  my  sister  was. 

"  Ten  months  after  she  came  my  Jamie  was  born. 
Mother  was  in  every  day  to  do  the  heavy  work  and 
dress  the  baby.  She  was  very  kind  so  far  as  words 
went,  and  I  knew  if  she  had  a  favorite  among  father's 
children  it  was  me,  but  she  tried  me  awfully  by  throw- 
ing slurs  upon  Eben — a  thing  she'd  never  done  before. 
He  ought  to  have  got  me  a  nurse,  or  at  least  a  wo- 
man to  scour  and  cook.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  he 
hadn't  the  consideration  for  me  he  used  to  have  ;  that 
he  was  getting  selfish  and  careless ;  that  I  had  too 
much  on  my  mind  to  get  well  fast ;  and  much  more  of 
that  sort  of  talk  I  was  too  weak  to  answer,  or  tried  to 
pass  off  as  a  joke.  This  was  nothing  though  to  the 
way  she  went  on  to  Lizzie.  She  told  her  up  and 
down  that  she  was  a  useless,  expensive  piece  of  furni- 
ture, fit  for  nothing  but  to  look  at ;  a  bother  to  decent 
people  and  a  snare  to  weak  and  wicked  ones.  Lizzie 
answered  her  back  for  a  while,  for  she  had  a  spirit  of 
her  own,  though,  to  do  her  justice,  she  wasn't  often 
cross  or  bad-tempered,  but  by  and  by  she  listened  as 
mum  as  could  be  and  nobody  could  tell  from  her  face 
whether  she  minded  it  or  not.  I  was  the  first  to  find 
out  what  this  meant.  One  day,  when  mother  had 
washed  and  dressed  the  baby  and  laid  him  down  by 
16 


362  Nurse  Brown  s  Story. 

me,  and  gone  home  to  get  her  own  house  to  rights, 
Lizzie,  she  spoke  right  out. 

"  '  I  won't  be  hectored  and  bullied  any  longer  ! '  says 
she.  '  I've  stood  it  as  long  as  flesh  and  blood  can. 
That  woman's  got  no  right  to  lecture  me,  and  she 
sha'n't  do  it  again.  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  let  her 
have  her  say  for  a  whole  week,  and  that  I  wouldn't 
answer  her ;  but  there's  no  sign  of  her  tiring  herself 
out,  and  I  must  take  care  of  myself.  I  shall  speak  to 
brother  about  it  to-night.'  (She  always  called  Eben 
'brother.')  'We'll  see  whether  he  will  protect  a 
motherless  girl  in  his  own  house.' 

"  '  For  the  love  of  mercy,  Lizzie,'  said  I,  '  don't  open 
your  mouth  about  this  fuss  to  Eben  !  He's  quick- 
tempered, and  he's  that  fond  of  you  he'd  be  ready 
to  shut  the  door  in  mother's  face  the  next  time  she 
comes.' 

"  *'I  don't  see  where  the  harm  would  be  if  he  did,' 
says  she,  with  a  spiteful  laugh.  '  And  excuse  me  for 
saying  it,  Becky,  if  you  had  the  right  feeling  for  your 
husband  you  couldn't  take  her  abuse  of  him  as  quietly 
as  you  do.  My  blood  boils  to  hear  her  speak  of  him 
as  she  does,  and  so  ought  yours.' 

" '  It  does  hurt  me,'  I  says,  as  calm  as  I  could  speak. 
4  But  I  know  mother  so  well  that  I  can  make  allow- 
ances for  her.  Her  bark  is  worse  than  her  bite.  Some- 
thing has  crossed  her  lately,  and  she  can't  hide  it.  She 
has  been  too  kind  a  friend  to  me  and  too  good  a  wife 
to  father  for  me  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  her  at  this  late 
day.  Hard  words  break  no  bones,'  says  I,  a-trying  to 
laugh.  '  And  if  we  have  patience  we'll  live  through 
this  pelting.' 


Nurse  Brown  s  Story.  363 

" '  I  think,  sometimes/  says  she,  looking  right  at  me 
with  her  great,  bright  eyes, '  that  you  have  no  heart  at 
all,  you  take  life  so  easy.  You're  just  like  iced  milk- 
and-water  and  I'm  spiced  wine.  It's  as  much  as  I  can 
do  to  hold  my  tongue  when  I  see  you  going  round  and 
round  in  the  treadmill  every  day,  thinking  of  nothing 
but  how  much  work  you  can  crowd  in  between  mid- 
night and  midnight,  and  caring  for  nobody  except 
those  whining  babies.  I  often  say  to  myself:  "I'll 
give  her  my  opinion  of  her,  hot  and  hot,  before  this 
day  is  out.  I  always  did  hate  these  sanctified 
prudes.'" 

"  I  couldn't  speak  at  once,  I  was  so  taken  aback, 
and  my  heart  got  hotter  and  bigger  until  the  aching 
fairly  choked  me. 

" '  I  am  sorry  I  don't  please  you,  Lizzie,'  I  managed 
to  say  presently.  '  It  isn't  natural  to  me  to -show  my 
feelings  by  words,  but  I  try  to  serve  and  help  them  I 
love  as  well  as  I  can.'  And  then,  being  weak  and 
nervous-like,  the  tears  would  come  in  spite  of  all  I 
could  do  to  keep  them  back. 

"  '  Oh  !  '.says  she,  with  a  sneer, '  if  you're  going  to 
cry  I  have  done  talking.  That's  the  style  of  all  you 
meek,  pious,  yea-nay  women  ! ' 

"  At  that  minute  we  heard  little  Eby  crying,  down- 
stairs, '  Yizzie  !  Yizzie ! '  in  the  most  pitiful  voice  you 
can  think  of. 

"  She  did  not  stir  from  her  chair.  She  was  crimp- 
ing a  frill  for  herself  with  a  case-knife,  and  she  kept 
on  with  it  as  if  she  didn't  hear  the  darling.  He  called 
again,  '  Yizzie  !  Yizzie ! '  and  cried  as  if  his  heart  would 
break.  It's  thirty-five  years  ago,  Mrs.  Marley,  but  I 


364  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

am  woke  up  sometimes  now  of  nights  by  hearing  him 
say  it,  and  me  a-laying  there  not  able  to  move ! " 

The  sallow  face  flushed.  She  dropped  the  needle, 
that  had  moved  steadily  up  to  this  time,  and  raised 
her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  go  on  !  "  I  begged,  little  guessing  what  was 
to  follow.  "  I  cannot  have  you  distress  yourself  in 
this  way,  Mrs.  Brown,  interested  as  I  am  in  your 
story." 

"  It  eases  the  load  a  little  to  talk  about  it  to  some- 
body who  can  feel  for  me,"  said  the  poor  woman, 
simply,  wiping  her  spectacles  and  picking  up  her  work. 
"  I  won't  give  way  again.  I've  been  a-thinking  too 
much  to-day.  It's  David,  isn't  it,  who  says,  '  While  I 
was  musing,  the  fire  burned  ?  '  And,  somehow  the 
wind  makes  me  feel  kind  of  lonesome.  After  a  little, 
says  I,  for  I  couldn't  lie  still  and  listen  any  longer, 
and  I  had  a  '  milk  leg,'  and  wasn't  able  to  rise  : — 

"  '  Lizzie,'  says  I, '  would  you  mind  seeing  what  ails 
the  child?  He  never  cries  that  way  without  he's 
hurt.' 

"'Hurt!'  says  she,  and  her  eyes  snapped.  She 
acted  that  day  as  if  she  was  possessed.  '  Not  he ! 
He's  perishing  for  the  want  of  a  rousing  whipping,  and 
I'll  make  it  my  business  .to  see  his  pa  gives  him  one. 
He's  the  crossest-grained,  most  contrary  brat  I  ever 
beheld!  And  you're  as  big  a  baby  as  he  is!  Hold 
your  noise  there,  will  you?'  for  the  child  was  coming 
up-stairs. 

"  She  got  up  and  flounced  out  of  the  room  to  stop 
him,  leaving  the  door  open.  I  could  see  the  head  of 
the  stairs  from  my  bed,  and  I  had  a  fair  glimpse  of 


Nurse  Brown  s  Story.  365 

Eby's  face,  all  wet  with  tears,  just  above  the  floor. 
He  was  holding  up  his  finger,  which  was  streaming 
blood.  We  found  afterward  he  had  cut  it  badly  with 
a  piece  of  broken  glass. 

" '  Yizzie! '  he  sobbed  again,  as  she  reached  him, 
and  clutched  her  apron  with  his  bloody  hands  to 
steady  himself  in  climbing  to  the  top  step,  which  was 
higher  than  any  of  the  rest  and  awkward  for  children. 
She  was  always  very  nice  with  her  pretty  aprons  and 
she  tried  to  jerk  it  away  from  him.  He  held  fast  to 
save  himself  from  falling;  she  lost  her  balance  and 
down  the  stairs  they  both  pitched  head  first. 

"  I  screamed  louder  than  either,  and  struggled  and 
fought  to  get  out  of  bed ;  but  it  was  just  as  if  I  had 
been  chained  hand  and  foot.  I  could  do  nothing  but 
lie  there,  and  listen,  and  tremble,  and  pray — if  you 
could  call  that  praying  which  was  just  saying  the  same 
thing  over  and  over  again — '  Father,  have  mercy  upon 
them  !  Have  mercy  upon  them  ! ' 

"  There  was  a  terrible  commotion  going  on  below. 
When  they  fell,  it  seems  there  were  customers  in  the 
store  ;  and  at  the  noise  they  all  rushed  with  Eben 
into  the  back  entry,  and  saw  the  two  lying  in  a  heap 
at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  the  child  undermost.  I 
heard  the  talking,  and  the  bustling  back  and  forth 
and  the  groaning  as  them  that  were  hurt  was  lifted 
up  and  carried  into  the  parlor.  Then  somebody  said  : 
'Run  for  the  doctor!'  And  Eben  called  out  two  or 
three  times  like  one  distracted  :  '  My  darling,  my  dear 
love,  speak  to  me!  Where  are  you  hurt?'  Next 
was  the  sound  of  the  doctor's  voice ;  I  knew  it  in  an 
instant. 


366  Nurse  Brown  s  Story. 

"  '  Shut  that  door ! '  was  the  first  thing  he  said,  and 
I  understood  it  was  to  prevent  me  from  knowing  what 
was  passing. 

"  But  I  could  judge  something  of  what  they  did  by 
what  came  up  through  the  floor.  I  half  raised  myself 
on  my  elbow^  and  listened  as  for  the  sentence  of  my 
own  doom ;  and  when  the  baby  awoke  and  fretted 
I  put  him  to  the  breast,  and  leaned  down  again  to- 
ward the  floor.  Once  there  was  a  sharp,  awful  scream 
from  Lizzie,  and  Eben  was  trying  to  soothe  her,  and 
the  doctor  spoke  louder  and  more  positive-like,  and 
she  fell  into  hysterics,  and  there  was  worse  confusion 
than  ever.  All  this  time  I  didn't  hear  a  word  nor  a 
cry  from  my  boy,  strain  my  ears  as  I  might,  and  I  be- 
gan to  take  comfort  from  this.  Maybe  he  wasn't  hurt, 
although  the  stairs  were  steep,  and  it  had  been  a 
frightful  crash  when  they  struck  the  bottom.  But 
children  had  such  wonderful  escapes;  their  bones 
were  so  soft,  and  their  bodies  light.  It  was  strange 
he  made  no  noise,  but  his  father  was  there,  and  a 
word  from  him  would  have  kept  him  quiet.  Still  I 
was  repeating  aloud  :  '  Have  mercy  upon  them  !  Have 
mercy  upon  them ! '  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  (they 
said  it  wasn't  longer,  but  it  was  more  like  half  a  year 
to  me),  when  somebody  came  slowly  up  the  stairs, 
and  I  saw  it  was  mother,  pale  as  the  dead  and  so  sol- 
emn my  heart  went  down  within  me. 

"They  had  sent  for  her  to  break  the  news  to  me 
that  Lizzie  had  broken  her  arm,  she  said. 

"  '  And  Eby  ?  '  says  I. 

" '  I  won't  deceive  you,  Becky,'  she  says,  and  told 
me  that  he  had  fractured  his  skull  and  was  dying. 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  367 

" '  Tell  Eben  to  fetch  him  up  here/  I  says,  so  quiet 
she  stared  at  me.  But  I  really  didn't  feel  just  then. 
I  wasn't  stunned  neither,  I  think,  for  I  knew  exactly 
what  I  was  saying  and  what  had  happened.  '  Don't 
let  anybody  else  touch  him.  Lay  him  right  here  by 
me.' 

"'  Mother  made  them  do  just  as  I  ordered,  although 
Eben  was  very  unwilling  to  have  it  so,  and  the  doctor 
would  have  hindered  it  if  he  could,  for  fear,  he  said, 
'twould  excite  me  too  much.  I  was  past  being  ex- 
cited. I  didn't  shed  a  tear,  though  Eben  was  sobbing 
aloud  as  he  brought  up  the  boy — our  first-born,  Mrs. 
Marley — and  put  him  where  I  showed  him  I  wanted 
him  to  be. 

"  They  had  washed  the  tears  off  his  face,  but  his 
eyelids  were  swelled  from  crying,  and  his  sweet  mouth 
was  pouted  with  the  distress  and  pain  he  thought  no- 
body— not  even  his  mamma — pitied  him  for.  He  lay 
close  to  me ;  his  poor,  bruised  head  upon  my  pillow, 
his  cheek  against  mine,  for  an  hour,  breathing  shorter 
and  shorter  until  he  died." 


PART   II. 

"  How  could  you  bear  it  ?  "  cried  I,  in  a  horror  of 
grief  and  pity.  "  Didn't  you  feel  like  cursing  her  who 
had  caused  all  this?" 

"  Not  then,"  said  the  nurse  in  significant  simplicity. 
"  It  does  seem  strange  to  me  sometimes  that  I  could 
bear  it  and  live.  But  as  I  said  awhile  ago  my  heart 
melted  instead  of  breaking.  It  couldn't  have  been 
otherwise  when  Eben  threw  himself  down  by  his  dead 
boy  and  prayed  to  die  with  him.  I  called  him,  and  he 
came  at  once,  took  me  in  his  arms  and  sobbed  over  me. 

"  '  My  precious  wife  ! '  he  said.  '  Can  you  ever  for- 
give me?  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  love.  This  is  a 
judgment  sent  to  chastise  me  for  my  great  sin.  But 
it  has  fallen  upon  the  innocent  too/ 

"  I  thought  he  was  raving,  and  tried  to  keep  back 
my  tears  that  I  might  comfort  him.  It  was  his  talk 
about  forgiving  him  who  had  never  to  my  knowing 
injured  me,  that  put  Lizzie  into  my  head. 

"'She  must  fee*  dreadfully,"  I  says  to  mother,  who 
was  helping  move  my  Eby's  body  into  the  other  room, 
and  getting  the  clothes  to  lay  him  out  in. 

"  '  She'd  ought  to  ! '  she  put  in,  snappish-like. 

"  I  minded  afterward  how  Eben  lifted  his  head  from 
my  shoulder,  as  if  he  was  about  to  answer  back.     I 
didn't  give  him  time. 
368 


Nurse  Browris  Story.  369 

"'She  is  more  to  be  pitied  than  me,'  said  I.  '  She 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  the  child,yet  she  was  the  cause  of 
what  happened  to  him.  I  know  she  must  be  suffering 
terribly.  Eben,  dear,  would  you  mind  going  to  look 
after  her?  She  is  hurt  badly  in  body,  too  ;  we  may 
help  her.  Nobody  can  do  Mm  any  good,'  says  I,  be- 
ginning to  cry  again.  '  But  I've  a  notion  the  pain  in 
my  heart  wouldn't  be  so  sharp  if  I  tried  to  ease  some- 
body else's  trouble.  I  want  you  should  tell  her  from 
me,  Eben,  that  I  saw  it  all,  and  that  we  understand  it 
and  won't,  either  of  us,  lay  it  up  against  her  seeing  it 
was  an  accident.' 

He  got  up  to  do  as  I  said,  but  mother  she  stopped  him. 

" '  Your  place  is  with  your  wife,'  she  says,  in  her 
quick  way.  '  I'll  see  to  the  girl.  She'll  do  well 
enough,  never  fear.' 

"  He  minded  her  right  off,  but  I  could  see  he  didn't 
relish  her  manner  of  speaking.  He  didn't  like  being 
dictated  to  at  any  time. 

"  '  I  hope  she'll  be  kind  to  Lizzie,'  he  says  presently. 
'  The  poor  girl  is  almost  crazy.  As  you  say,  she  is 
the  one  most  to  be  pitied.  You  are  a  dear,  loving, 
sensible  creature,  and  know  how  to  feel  for  others.' 
By  and  by  he  mentioned  Lizzie  again.  It  was  plain 
that  she  weighed  heavy  upon  his  mind.  '  She  is  so 
sensitive  and  impulsive,'  he  said,  '  and  has  such  strong 
feelings,  I  am  really  uneasy  as  to  the  effect  this  will 
have  upon  her.' 

"At  that  I  said:  'Mother  is  busy  in  the  other  room, 
and  I  think  Lizzie  is  lying  on  the  lounge  in  the  parlor. 
Now  and  then  I  can  hear  her  crying.     Step  down  and 
see  for  yourself  how  she  is  getting  along.' 
16* 


3/o  Nurse  Browris  Story. 

"  He  kissed  me  and  the  baby  before  he  went,  and 
I  lay  still  thinking  and  crying  quietly  to  myself,  and 
striving  to  make  up  my  mind  to  the  Lord's  will,  for 
ever  so  long.  Mother  was  talking  low  with  a  neigh- 
bor in  the  next  room,  and  I  could  catch  the  sound  of 
Eben's  voice  through  the  flooring  if  I  listened  atten- 
tively, but  nobody  came  near  me  until  it  was  near 
dark.  Then  it  was  mother  who  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  '  Why  !  where's  Eben  ? '  she  says,  surprised. 

"  I  told  her  how  I  had  sent  him  down  to  Lizzie,  and 
how  anxious  we  were  about  her. 

" '  You  needn't  be/  says  she.  She  always  fired  up 
when  Lizzie  was  named.  'She'll  never  die  nor  go 
crazy  with  grief.  I've  no  patience  with  her  or  her 
affectations.  And  I  tell  you  what,  Becky,'  sitting 
down  on  the  side  of  my  bed,  'you're  spoiling  her  with 
all  your  might.  You'll  be  sorry  for  it  some  day.' 

" '  Maybe  so,  mother,'  I  said.  '  But  I  can't  be  sorry 
to-day  that  I've  done  all  I  could  to  relieve  her  suffer- 
ings. She'll  be  haunted  for  life  by  my  darling's  last 
look  and  cry.  I've  been  thinking  it  over  lying  here. 
We  can't  be  too  charitable  or  kind  to  her.' 

" '  I  shall  speak  to  your  father  about  taking  her 
home  right  away.  I'll  tell  him  she's  in  the  way  here 
at  this  time,'  says  mother,  after  thinking  for  a  minute. 
'  And  when  she's  well  again,  we  must  find  another 
place  for  her.  She's  done  harm  enough  in  this  house 
already.'  She  looked  so  stern  that  I  was  frightened 
at  the  idea  of  trusting  Lizzie  in  her  hands. 

" '  Don't,  please  ? '  I  begged,  as  for  my  life.  '  I 
wouldn't  have  her  think  that  I  dreaded  to  see  her 
again,  or  that  the  sight  of  her  could  ever  be  painful 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  371 

to  me.  It  would  be  like  accusing  her  of  murder. 
Think  what  the  Saviour  says,  "  Whatsoever  ye  would, 
therefore,  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so 
unto  them."  If  I  were  in  her  place,  such  treatment 
would  kill  me.' 

" '  You're  not  her,'  says  mother  ;  but  when  I  went 
on  to  plead  with  her  she  soothed  me  by  promising  to 
do  nothing  against  my  will  at  present.  I  didn't  see 
Lizzie  till  the  morning  of  the  funeral.  It  was  Eben 
who  persuaded  me  to  send  for  her.  I  suppose  you'll 
think  me  inconsistent,  Mrs.  Marley,  after  all  I've  said 
of  being  sorry  for  and  forgiving  her,  but  I  did  shrink 
from  meeting  her,  although  she  was  never  out  of  my 
mind  for  a  minute.  I'd  only  to  shut  my  eyes,  and  I'd 
see  her  a-standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  frowning 
and  scolding  at  the  child,  and  jerking  her  apron  away 
from  his  tight  little  fingers.  It  was  this  made  me  say 
I  knew  she'd  be  haunted  all  her  days.  I  was  to  be 
kept  perfectly  still,  said  the  doctor,  for  the  brain  was 
over-excited,  and  mother  wouldn't  let  nobody  but  fa- 
ther and  Eben  so  much  as  peep  at  me.  She'd  gone 
home  to  dress  for  the  funeral,  and  Eben  was  sitting 
by  me  and  they'd  brought  the  coffin  into  my  room 
and  left  it  there  that  I  might  have  a  last,  long  look  at 
my  boy,  when  my  husband  said,  kind  and  gentle  as 
could  be : 

" '  Dear  wife,  won't  you  see  that  broken-hearted 
child  and  be  reconciled  to  her  over  this  little  coffin  ;  tell 
her  that  you  will  try  to  feel  towards  her  still  as  one 
sister  should  for  another?  She  is  grieving  herself  to 
death  about  your  refusal  to  let  her  come  into  your 
sight.  Can't  you  bury  your  enmity  with  our  first-born  ? ' 


372  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

"  That  cut  me  to  the  quick.  '  O  Eben ! '  I  cried, 
'  You  don't  think  I  could  bear  ill-will  to  anybody  just 
now,  least  of  all  to  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  Haven't 
I  said  all  along  that  I  forgave  her — freely?' 

"'Actions  speak  louder  than  words,' he  says,  very 
solemn  and  sad.  '  What  is  the  feeling  that  makes 
you  wish  to  shun  her?  Ask  yourself  the  question.' 

"  I  had  but  one  answer  to  make.  '  If  you  think  it  is 
unkind  and  unchristian  not  to  ask  her  in  to  see  me,  I 
wish  you  would  bring  her.  I  don't  want  to  deceive 
myself  or  to  hurt  her  feelings.' 

"  She  came  in  pale  as  ashes,  her  arm  in  a  sling;  and, 
at  the  sight  of  the  black  dress  she'd  put  on  to  wear  to 
the  funeral,  I  burst  out  crying  and  opened  my  arms  to 
her.  She  was  my  sister,  you  see,  and  my  heart  was 
very  tender  because  it  was  so  sore. 

"'You  won't  send  me  away  from  you  and  brother 
will  you  ? '  she  sobbed,  after  awhile,  raising  herself, 
and  grieving  as  I  was  I  couldn't  but  say  to  myself 
how  pretty  she  was,  for  her  curls  were  flying  loose, 
and  her  eyes  brighter  than  ever  with  tears.  '  It's  all 
the  home  I  have  in  the  wide  world,  and  I'll  serve  you 
on  my  knees,  if  you  will  but  love  me  and  let  me  stay. 
I  don't  deserve  any  comfort  from  you,  Becky,  but  I'm 
so  miserable !  so  miserable  !  I  wish  I  had  been  killed 
instead  of  Eby  ! ' 

"  Eben  was  crying,  too,  with  me,  and  his  voice 
shook,  but  he  said :  '  You  shall  always  have  a  home 
with  your  sister,  Lizzie.  She  is  too  true  and  noble  to 
be  angry  with  you  for  what  has  happened.  We  will 
stand  your  friends,  let  what  will  come.' 

"  Mother  came  to  see  me  a  day  or  two  after  Eby 


Nurse  Browrts  Story.  373 

was  buried,  and  began  to  urge  me  to  let  Lizzie  go  to 
father's  to  live  until  she  could  find  something  else  to  do. 

"  '  She's  no  earthly  account  here/  says  she.  '  She's 
worse  than  useless,  for  she's  killing  you  by  inches,  and 
she'll  do  more  mischief  yet  if  somebody  doesn't  take 
her  in  hand.  I've  talked  to  her  time  and  again,  and 
it  doesn't  do  a  mite  of  good.  She's  a  hardened  jade, 
and  she  wants  a  good  tight  rein.  If  you  must  hire  a 
hand  in  the  store,  let  it  be  a  stranger.  You  pay  this 
girl  more  than  you  would  anybody  else.  And  I'll  let 
Matilda  come  around  to  help  you  in  housework  and 
sewing  until  you're  strong  and  well  again.' 

"  Matilda  was  my  oldest  half-sister  and  mother's 
right-hand  at  home.  I  felt  her  kindness  so  much  in 
offering  to  spare  her  to  me,  it  made  it  all  the  harder 
for  me  to  explain  what  we  had  promised  Lizzie.  I 
never  saw  her  so  fretted  by  anything  else  as  she  was 
when  I  told  her  how  it  had  come  about. 

"  '  It's  a  regular  plot ! '  she  says.  '  A  vile,  hatched- 
up  plan  to  take  advantage  of  you  when  you  wasn't 
able  to  judge  for  yourself  what  was  best  and  right.  I 
don't  marvel  at  anything  she  does,  but  Eben  had  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself !  And  you're  a  weak,  silly 
baby  of  a  simpleton,  Becky  King!  You  don't  see 
further  than  the  nose  on  your  face.  Because  you're 
a  decent,  God-fearing  woman,  that  fears  to  displease 
your  Maker,  and  would  harm  yourself  sooner  than  in- 
jure your  neighbor,  you  take  it  for  granted  other  peo- 
ple are  like  you.  You'll  repent  this  promise  they've 
wormed  out  of  you  in  dust  and  ashes  before  you  die, 
take  my  word  for  it ! ' 

"  I  was  distressed  at  her  going  on  so,  but  I  hadn't  the 


374  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

least  idea  what  she  was  hinting  at  nor  why  she  was  so 
set  upon  getting  Lizzie  away.  The  next  thing  I  heard 
was  she  had  quarrelled  outright  with  Eben.  Long 
afterwards  she  told  me  that  she  talked  to  him  much 
plainer  than  she  did  to  me,  and  warned  him  very 
faithful  as  to  what  would  be  the  end  of  the  course  he 
was  taking.  All  I  was  told  at  the  time  was  that  there 
had  been  words  between  them — so  hard  that  they 
didn't  speak  for  more'n  two  years — and  mother 
wouldn't  come  to  the  house  without  she  was  sure 
Eben  wasn't  at  home.  He  didn't  object  to  my  going 
to  father's,  but  he  wouldn't  go  further  than  the  door 
with  me.  Yet  I  must  say  he  behaved  very  well  in 
the  matter. 

"  '  I  wouldn't  be  the  means  of  hindering  you  from 
visiting  your  father,'  he  used  to  say.  '  And,  although 
your  mother  and  I  don't  agree,  she  is  certainly  fond 
of  you  and  the  children.  Take  them  to  see  her  when- 
ever you  like.' 

"  I  did,  often  as  I  could,  especially  Sunday  after- 
noons, when  father  was  home.  He  was  getting  in- 
firm, and  was  almost  childish  in  liking  to  have  me 
with  him.  He  didn't  care  much  for  Eben,  and  he  was 
cross  with  Lizzie  sometimes  when  she  was  pert  to 
mother  or  me,  or  seemed  to  look  down  on  the  other 
girls,  Matilda  and  Maria,  who  were  shy  and  didn't  dress 
or  talk  as  she  did.  She  went  with  me  though — say, 
once  a  month — but  she  hardly  ever  stayed  the  even- 
ing out.  She  had  many  young  companions,  and  she 
was  pretty  sure  to  be  off  directly  after  supper,  to  go 
to  church  with  this  or  that  one.  Eben  got  in  the 
habit  of  spending  Sunday  evenings  with  his  married 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  375 

sister,  who  lived  quite  in  the  suburbs,  and  was  occa- 
sionally very  late  in  coming  to  see  me  home.  It 
never  struck  me  then  as  queer  that  he  was  always 
early  when  Lizzie  was  with  me,  but  I  did  think  once 
or  twice  that  I  wouldn't  mind  going  down  the  street 
without  him,  if  she  was  along  to  help  with  the  sleepy 
children. 

"  So  things  went  on  for  two  years,  until  one  even- 
ing— I  shall  never  forget  the  date — it  was  the  2Oth  of 
December,  and  very  cloudy  and  raw.  I  had  doubts 
about  taking  out  the  little  ones  that  afternoon,  only 
Eben  said  a  little  cold  weather  wouldn't  hurt  them. 
He  was  going  to  his  sister's,  and  Lizzie  meant  to 
spend  the  night  with  Mary  Bryson,  a  nice,  steady  girl 
who  worked  at  Mrs.  Bobbinet's  in  the  place  I  used  to 
have  when  I  was  there.  She  would  often  do  this,  and 
be  home  by  sunrise  Monday  morning. 

"  '  I  met  Matilda  in  the  street  to-day  as  I  went  to 
church,'  says  Eben,  while  I  was  still  considering  what 
was  best.  '  She  told  me  your  father  was  sick.  She 
was  on  her  way  for  the  doctor.' 

"  This  settled  me.  Lizzie  walked  with  me  as  far 
as  our  ways  lay  together. 

"  '  I  'most  wish  I  had  not  given  a  positive  promise 
to  Mary,'  she  says,  then.  '  If  I  hadn't,  I  would 
go  with  you  and  see  father.  Take  him  my  best 
love.' 

"  Mother  met  me  at  the  front  door.  '  I'm  ever  so 
glad  to  see  you,'  she  said.  '  But  it's  too  damp  and 
bleak  for  the  children  to  be  out.  You'd  ought  to 
have  left  them  with  Lizzie.' 

" '  She's  gone  to  Mary  Bryson's/  said  I. 


376  Nurse  Browris  Story. 

"  '  I'll  warrant/  growled  mother.  '  She's  a  regular 
gad-fly.' 

"  Father  wasn't  seriously  sick,  but  he  had  a  feverish 
cold  and  a  troublesome  hacking  cough  that  was  very 
trying  to  the  strength.  About  half-past  eight  he  took 
some  drops  the  doctor  had  left,  and  fell  off  into  a 
sound  sleep.  I  was  afraid  the  children  would  disturb 
him,  for  they  were  wide-awake,  by  way  of  variety  ; 
and  so  when  an  old  friend  of  ours — Andrew  Brown  by 
name — stepped  in  to  see  how  he  was,  I  made  so  bold 
as  to  ask  him,  for  I'd  known  him  all  my  life,  if  we 
might  go  along  with  him,  seeing  he  had  to  pass  right 
by  our  house  on  his  way  home.  He  was  very  kind, 
and  would  carry  Jamie,  although  he  was  a  stout  boy, 
quite  able  to  walk  twice  as  far.  I  had  Ruthie  by  the 
hand,  and  we  went  on  pretty  brisk,  for  it  was  begin- 
ning to  snow.  I  carried  the  key  of  the  side  door 
always  in  my  pocket  when  I  went  out,  and  as  the 
shop  stood  on  the  corner  we  came  up  to  it  by  the 
cross-street. 

"  '  Why,  there's  a  light  in  the  sitting-room  !  '  said  I 
the  minute  we  were  in  sight  of  the  windows.  '  That's 
odd  when  there's  nobody  at  home.  I  hope  nothing 
has  caught  fire.' 

"  '  The  light  is  too  steady  for  that,'  said  Andrew, 
but  we  hurried  on  faster  for  seeing  it. 

"  The  shutters  of  one  window  were  open,  but  the 
shade  was  down — a  white  one  with  a  painted  border — 
and  as  I  stopped  at  the  door  and  began  to  turn  the 
key  in  the  lock,  which  always  went  hard,  a  shadow 
passed  across  the  blind. 

" '  There's  Lizzie,'  says  I.     '  I  suppose  she  got  dis- 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  377 

couraged  with  the  cold,  and  didn't  go  to  Mary  Bry- 
son's  after  all.  She's  coming  to  the  door  for  me.  It's 
all  right.' 

"I  gave  a  wrench  to  the  key  that  unlocked  the 
door,  stopped  to  say  '  Good  night ! '  to  Mr.  Brown, 
and  picked  up  Jamie,  who  didn't  fancy  being  set  down 
on  the  steps.  Ruthie  was  pushing  the  door  with  all 
her  might,  but  it  didn't  give  way,  and  I  put  my 
shoulder  to  it.  It  flew  open  on  a  sudden,  and  there 
stood  Eben. 

"'Halloo!'  he  says.  'You  almost  knocked  me 
over.  What  brought  you  home  so  early?  Babies 
fretful,  eh  ?  '  taking  Jamie  from  me. 

"  I  fold  him  how  it  happened,  and  walked  into  the 
sitting-room.  '  Where's  Lizzie  ?  '  I  asked,  staring 
around,  for  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

" '  At  Mary  Bryson's,  I  suppose,'  and  he  said  it  so 
coolly  it  took  my  breath  away.  '  I  haven't  seen  her 
since  you  walked  off  together  this  afternoon.  I  had 
my  walk  for  nothing,  for  Julia  was  not  at  home ;  so  I 
came  back,  made  a  cup  of  tea  for  myself,  and  have 
been  sitting  here  alone  ever  since.' 

"  I  didn't  say  a  word,  ma'am,  nor  so  much  as  look 
as  if  I  didn't  believe  him,  but  my  heart  dropped  like 
a  shot  bird,  for  I  had  made  no  mistake  when  I  said 
that  was  Lizzie's  shadow  on  the  curtain.  I  saw  it 
plain  as  I  do  you  this  minute — her  side-face,  and  her 
curls,  and  even  the  bow  of  ribbon  fastening  her  collar, 
the  long  ends  blowing  behind  her  as  she  walked. 
There  never  was  a  painted  profile  that  was  more  dis- 
tinct. 

"  It's  an  awful  lesson — that  of  distrust  in  your  hus- 


378  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

band — and  it  came  in  upon  me  like  a  thunderclap.  Eben 
had  lied  to  me,  and  done  it  so  glibly  and  with  such  a 
straight  face  he  must  be  used  to  that  sort  of  work. 
I  hadn't  dreamed  of  complaining  of  him  or  of  Lizzie 
for  spending  the  cold,  disagreeable  evening  at  home 
in  each  other's  company.  Why  should  he  want  to 
deceive  me?  How  often  had  he  done  it  before  ?  And 
why  ?  She  had  run  away  to  hide,  and  he  had  held  the 
door  against  me  until  she  was  safe  up-stairs.  Why  ? 
Eben  helped  undress  the  children  and  frolicked  with 
them,  and  I  picked  up  their  clothes  and  put  them  by 
in  the  parlor-closet,  and  answered  his  questions  about 
father  as  if  I  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  what  he  was 
saying,  and  all  the  while  my  brain  danced  and  turned 
somersaults  to  the  Why.  I  was  like  a  person  standing 
on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  throwing  out  his  hands 
to  keep  from  falling  over,  I  felt  so  giddy.  I  kept  busy 
as  a  bee  until  the  children  were  ready  for  bed.  I  re- 
member now  how  pleased  their  father  looked  when 
they  said  they  wanted  he  should  hear  their  prayers. 

"  '  And  he  with  a  lie  in  his  right  hand  ! '  said  some- 
thing in  my  ear. 

"  He  carried  them  both  up  to  bed  in  his  arms,  al- 
though Ruthie  was  a  heavy  lift  of  herself,  but  he  was 
strong  as  a  giant.  I  heard  them  having  a  great  romp 
overhead,  and  I  stole  softly  up  to  Lizzie's  door,  and 
tried  it.  It  was  locked.  I  poked  my  little  finger  in  the 
key-hole,  and  felt  that  the  key  was  on  the  inside.  I 
didn't  need  proof  of  the  deceit  they  had  practised  on 
me,  but  I  had  it  in  this.  Everything  in  the  room  was 
still  as  death,  and  there  wasn't  a  glimmer  of  light. 
She  didn't  mean  I  should  suspect  she  was  there — that 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  379 

was  clear — but  why  should  she  take  such  pains  to 
hinder  me?  All  night  long  I  turned  the  question 
over  in  my  mind,  while  Eben  slept  like  a  healthy 
child.  He  was  an  early  riser,  but  I  hadn't  shut  my 
eyes,  and  I  was  up  before  him,  was  dressed  by  the 
time  he  was  awake.  He  tried  to  persuade  me  not  to 
go  down-stairs  until  he  had  made  the  kitchen  fire,  but 
I  was  set  in  my  way.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
expose  them,  to  put  them  to  open  shame,  was  foolish 
enough  to  think  I  could  be  smart  enough  to  circum- 
vent them.  I  never  lost  sight  of  the  hall  and  the 
staircase  all  the  while  I  vvas  getting  breakfast.  Eben 
came  in  the  kitchen  once,  and  shut  the  door  after  him, 
but  I  had  it  wide  open  again  in  a  second. 

"  '  It's  hot  as  fury  in  here,'  says  I.  '  Leave  that  as 
it  is,  please.' 

"  Lizzie  couldn't  get  down  without  my  seeing  her, 
so  of  course  she  didn't  make  her  appearance. 

" '  Lizzie  is  late,'  says  Eben,  when  we  sat  down  to 
table.  He  had  been  fidgeting  from  the  top  of  the 
house  to  the  bottom  for  an  hour.  '  I  suppose  the 
storm  keeps  her.' 

"  At  that  minute  the  milkman  stopped  at  the  side 
door.  The  snow  was  deep  and  still  falling,  and  Eben 
had  never  let  me  do  such  a  thing  before  in  stormy 
weather;  but  he  pretended  not  to  hear  the  bell,  went 
on  cutting  up  Jamie's  food  and  talking  to  him,  while 
I  got  up  to  fetch  the  milk.  I  went  to  the  kitchen  for 
a  pitcher,  then  out  upon  the  sidewalk  to  the  wagon. 
I  had  hardly  crossed  the  threshold  before  the  door 
slammed  to  behind  me.  Ruthie  opened  it  almost 
directly. 


380  Nurse  Browris  Story. 

" '  Papa  said  the  wind  blew  it  to,'  she  said,  '  and 
told  me  to  run  quick  and  open  it,  or  you'd  be  froze.' 

"  I  wasn't  surprised  to  find  Lizzie  in  the  dining-room 
when  I  got  back,  as  if  she'd  just  come  in  through  the 
shop.  She  had  on  her  hood,  and  cloak  and  gloves ; 
her  cheeks  were  red  as  if  she  had  been  walking  in  the 
wind,  and  she  was  actually  pulling  off  her  rubbers. 

"  '  Such  a  tramp  as  I've  had  ! '  says  she  all  out  of 
breath.  '  I  thought  I'd  never  get  here.' 

"  I  went  up  to  her  and  picked  up  one  of  her  over- 
shoes. It  was  dry  and  warm,  while  my  shoes  wefe 
full  of  wet  snow  from  having  stood  in  it  a  half-minute. 
I  said  nothing,  but  I  ran  my  hand  into  the  India-rubber 
shoe  and  looked  her  square  in  the  eye.  Then  I  threw 
it  down  and  went  around  to  my  seat  at  the  head  of 
the  table.  They  were  taking  a  world  of  pains  to  fool 
me.  Why  ? 

"All  this  time  and  for  a  fortnight  afterwards  I  was 
angry,  and  puzzled,  and  hurt,  but  not  jealous.  It 
didn't  once  come  into  my  head  that  Eben  preferred 
Lizzie  to  me.  I  was  his  wife — the  mother  of  his 
children.  He  had  vowed  to  be  faithful  to  me,  and  I 
didn't  doubt  that  he  was.  It  wounded  and  displeased 
me  that  he  had  lied  to  me,  yet  I  was  a  great  ways 
from  guessing  at  his  real  reason  for  doing  so.  Father 
grew  worse,  and  I  managed  to  see  him  every  day  ;  sat 
up  with  him  two  nights,  leaving  the  children  at  home 
with  Eben.  I  meant  to  watch  a  third  night  yet,  but 
when  I  went  to  father's  for  this  purpose,  I  found 
somebody  else  had  offered  to  take  my  place.  Mother 
walked  part  the  way  back  with  me,  for  I  said  I  must 
go  home,  now  there  was  no  need  of  my  staying. 


Nurse  Browns  Story.  381 

" '  You  are  right  to  keep  watch  upon  things  in  your 
own  house,'  says  she  as  we  parted.  '  And  my  advice 
to  you  is  to  open  your  eyes  well !  " 

"  This  speech  made  me  uncomfortable  somehow, 
and  I  suppose  put  me  up  to  what  I  did  when  I  reached 
the  house.  I  had  noticed  that  morning  that  a  slat  in 
one  of  the  shutters  was  loose.  They  weren't  movable 
but  stationary,  and  as  I  opened  them  I  had  seen  that 
I  could  push  it  up  and  down.  The  sitting-room  was 
on  the  ground  floor,  and,  thinks  I  to  myself,  '  I'll  see 
if  any  passers-by  could  peek  in.  It  isn't  pleasant  to 
imagine  that  some  thieving  vagabond  may  be  looking 
at  you  when  you  are  busy  at  night  with  your  work, 
and  maybe  all  alone  in  the  house.' 

"  I  pulled  the  slat  ever  so  gently,  and  it  slipped 
down  an  inch  at  least.  There  was  a  bright  light  in 
the  room,  and  Lizzie  was  sitting  upon  Eben's  knee, 
playing  with  his  hair.  I  watched  them  several  min- 
utes before  I  had  strength  or  sense  to  move,  saw  him 
kiss  and  fondle  her,  as  he'd  no  right  to  treat  anybody 
except  only  me — at  least,  those  were  my  old-fashioned 
notions — then  I  knocked  at  the  door.  Eben  let  me  in 
and  said  how  glad  he  was  to  see  me,  and  how  pleased 
that  I  wasn't  to  have  another  night's  watching;  but  I 
couldn't  stay  to  listen.  I  ran  up  stairs  and  locked 
myself  in  my  room  with  my  children.  But  for  them  I 
would  have  killed  myself  then  and  there,  or  run  away 
and  never,  never  seen  him  again.  At  last  I  made  out 
through  the  storm  raging  within  me  that  he  was  at 
the  door,  and  calling  to  me  to  let  him  in.  I  got  up 
from  my  knees  by  the  children's  bed  (although  I 
hadn't  been  praying)  and  opened  the  door. 


382  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

"  '  Don't  touch  me,'  I  said,  as  he  offered  to  put  his 
arm  around  me.  '  I  saw  you  through  the  window  just 
now — you  two.  And  I  know  why  Lizzie  hid  from  me 
Sunday  night  before  last,  and  you  told  me  she  wasn't 
in  the  house.' 

"  He  tried  to  laugh  off  the  matter  at  first ;  then  he 
talked  about  brotherly  affection  ;  and  when  I  turned  a 
deaf  ear,  and  he  saw  that  I  had  really  seen  enough  to 
convince  that  all  this  was  idle  prattle  and  a  false  ex- 
cuse, he  owned  right  out  that  he  did  love  my  sister 
as  a  man  does  the  girl  he  would  marry  if  he  could.  He 
couldn't  help  it,  he  said.  The  affections  were  beyond 
the  control  of  the  will,  and  so  on  ;  and  what  harm  was 
done  without  I  chose  to  make  scandal  of  what  I'd 
found  out  ?  We  might  live  together,  a  happy  united 
family  for  years,  if  I  would  dismiss  my  absurd  scru- 
ples and  take  a  sensible  view  of  the  case. 

" '  A  man  isn't  responsible  for  these  accidents,'  says 
he.  '  I  don't  like  you  any  the  less  for  being  so  fond 
of  Lizzie.  I've  been  true  to  you  all  the  time.  You 
would  not  be  the  worse  off  for  my  intimacy  with  your 
sister  if  you  hadn't  chanced  to  see  what  I  never  meant 
you  should.' 

'"If  'twasn't  wrong,  why  did  you  conceal  it  from 
me?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Because  I  knew  you  well  enough  to  be  certain 
you'd  disapprove  of  our  sentiments  and  behavior  one 
to  the  other/  he  says.  'And  although  you  don't  be- 
lieve it,  I  love  you  so  well,  I  would  spare  you  needless 
pain.  You  will  do  me  and  my  affection  justice  in 
time,  Becky,  but  you  misjudge  me  fearfully  now.' 

"  People  didn't  talk  and  write  about   free-love  and 


Nurse  Browris  Story.  383 

affinities  and  that  sort  of  stuff  in  those  days,  and 
although  his  arguments  sounded  very  fine,  and  he 
could  reason  me  down,  I  could  see  what  lay  behind  it 
all.  I  told  him  it  was  foolish  and  wicked,  cruel  to  me, 
and  insulting  to  Him  who  had  ordained  marriage 
and  commanded  a  man  to  cleave  unto  his  wife.  That 
seemed  to  me  the  only  right  'view  of  the  case.'  More- 
over— for  my  spirit  was  fairly  roused — I  wouldn't  bear 
it  any  longer.  Lizzie  must  leave  the  house  if  I  ever 
detected  any  more  of  such  goings-on  as  I  had  wit- 
nessed that  night,  or  I  should  take  the  children  and 
go  to  father's.  I  was  excited,  and  maybe  spoke  too 
harshly,  but  it  was  a  sharp  cross  for  a  wife  to  bear — 
from  her  own  sister  too.  I  promised  him  I  wouldn't 
expose  them  without  they  gave  me  further  reason, 
and  that  I  wouldn't  open  my  lips  to  Lizzie  on  the 
subject.  He  took  most  of  the  blame  to  himself — '  if 
there  was  any  wrong  in  what  they  had  done ; '  he 
slipped  that  in  every  other  sentence.  The  girl  had 
attracted  him  from  the  first,  and  she  had  loved  him 
the  instant  she  set  eyes  on  him  in  Pittsburg.  He'd 
got  some  flummery  about  '  involuntary  affection  '  in 
his  head,  and  neither  common  sense  nor  religion  could 
work  it  out. 

"  Next  morning  we  were  sent  for  early  to  see  father 
die.  Eben  was  very  kind  and  useful  and  sympathiz- 
ing in  all  that  followed,  and  he  and  mother  made  up 
their  quarrel.  There's  nothing  checks  hard  feeling 
like  the  cold  hand  of  death.  He  was  so  like  the  old 
Eben  to  me  that  I  used  to  fancy  I  had  dreamed  all  that 
happened  on  that  awful  night.  Anyhow  I  was  willing 
to  forget  it,  and  to  show  that  I  did.  Maybe  I  hadn't 


384  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

acted  just  right  myself,  I  would  say  hi  my  thoughts. 
I  had  ought  to  have  kept  my  husband  more  to  myself. 
I  had  as  good  as  given  him  over  to  her.  True,  I  had 
spent  labor  and  thought  and  health  in  his  service, 
but  it  came  to  me  like  a  bran-new  idea,  that  men  must 
be  amused  as  well  as  served.  That's  so,  I  believe, 
ma'am,  the  world  over.  They  mostly  don't  look  deep 
enough  to  find  the  real  spring  of  a  woman's  love.  I 
often  think  that  nine  out  of  ten  of  them  wouldn't  be 
quite  satisfied  with  less  than  two  wives  apiece — one  to 
work  for  her  husband,  to  see  to  his  clothes,  his  food, 
and  his  housekeeping,  to  bear  children  and  take  care 
of  them  ;  the  other  to  dress  nicely,  and  look  pretty, 
and  pet  her  lord  whenever  he's  at  home.  And  I  be- 
lieve too  that  the  one  that  did  the  fancy  work  would 
generally  be  the  favorite." 

I  could  not  help  smiling.  "  I  never  suspected  be- 
fore that  you  could  be  satirical,  "  Mrs.  Brown,"  I 
said. 

"  I  ain't  sure  I  quite  take  your  meaning,"  she  an- 
swered gravely.  "  I  hope  I've  said  nothing  ill-na- 
tured, but  some  things  were  burnt  in  very  deep  on  my 
mind  in  those  times.  I  would  look  at  myself  in  the 
glass  and  actually  cry  over  the  loss  of  my  color  and 
my  bright  eyes,  and  notice  how  thin  my  hair  got,  and 
how  my  hands  were  rough  and  hard,  and  bony,  and 
how  plain  and  no-stylish  my  dress  was,  and  compare 
myself  with  Lizzie — so  handsome,  and  fresh  and  trim. 
I  had  always  tried  to  keep  myself  neat  and  the 
house  tidy  and  comfortable,  but  I  had  got  to  be  old- 
fashioned  and  humdrum — and  what  wonder  !  What 
with  babies  and  ill-health,  and  housework,  and  sewing, 


Nurse  Browris  Story.  385 

and  slaving  over  hours  to  keep  my  sister  from  being 
a  drag  upon  my  husband,  it  was  strange  I  was  alive 
and  in  my  senses.  When  this  would  come  very  close 
to  me  I  thought  I  should  go  wild,  so  I'd  put  it  all  be- 
hind me  as  a  temptation  of  the  Evil  One,  and  try 
tc  do  the  duty  of  the  day.  I  brightened  up  my  talk, 
and  smartened  my  dress,  and  humored  my  husband 
in  every  way  I  could  think  of.  I  got  Matilda  to  run 
in  of  evenings  to  sit  with  Lizzie  or  take  care  of  the 
children,  and  I'd  fix  myself  up  in  my  best  and  walk 
with  Eben,  and  I'd  put  myself  out  to  attend  church 
and  lectures,  and  such  like  entertainments  with  him. 
Mrs.  Marley,  it  was  like  blowing  on  to  cold  ashes. 
The  livelier  I  got,  the  soberer  he  was.  I'd  never  seen 
him  so  down  before ;  and  Lizzie,  she  wasn't  much  bet- 
ter. It  was  up-hill  work  trying  to  make  talk  when  we 
three  were  together,  and  you  may  be  sure,  though  I 
did  my  best,  it  wasn't  that  I  had  much  heart  for  the 
business.  Still  I  felt  I  was  helping  to  keep  Eben  out 
of  temptation,  and  doing  all  I  could  to  coax  him  back 
into  the  right  path. 

"  So  the  months  slipped  on  one  after  another,  and 
another  December  had  come.  It  was  the  first  Satur- 
day of  the  month  when  Eben  showed  me  a  letter  from 
a  little  town  a  hundred  miles  away,  telling  him  of 
some  speculation  in  real  estate,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  in  which  he  said  he  was  interested. 

" '  I'll  just  slip  up  on  the  cars  this  evening,  stay  all 
night,  and  spend  the  Sabbath  with  my  friend,'  says  he 
'  and  be  back  by  ten  o'clock  on  Monday  morning.  It's 
too  good  a  chance  to  lose.' 

"  It  was  all  settled  in  a  hurry  before  I  could  get 
17 


386  Nurse  Browns  Story. 

my  senses  together.  He  took  me  and  the  children 
over  to  mother's,  and  kissed  us  '  good-by  '  in  haste,  for 
fear  he'd  lose  the  train,  he  said.  Lizzie  was  to  follow 
me  when  the  store  was  shut  for  the  night,  and  she  had 
a  smart  boy — a  sort  of  porter  and  errand  boy  Eben 
employed  in  the  busy  season — to  help  her.  About 
eight  o'clock  he  brought  me  a  note  from  Lizzie.  She 
wrote  that  Mary  Bryson  had  been  into  the  shop  since 
I  left  and  begged  her  so  hard  to  spend  Sunday  with 
her,  she  couldn't  refuse. 

" '  I'm  just  as  pleased  as  if  she  had  come,'  says 
mother  in  her  dry  fashion.  '  But  it's  odd,  seeing  she's 
so  fond  of  Mary,  she  doesn't  copy  her  ways  a  little.' 

"  It  stormed  all  day  Sunday,  and  we  kept  in-doors. 
Such  a  quiet  season  of  rest  and  peace  as  that  looks  to 
me  now  when  I  turn  back  to  it !  Mother  was  kind- 
ness itself,  and  so  were  the  girls,  and  the  children  so 
good  and  happy !  I  hadn't  been  so  free  from  care  for 
years.  Monday  morning  was  clear  as  a  bell,  and  I 
was  astir  betimes.  I  left  the  children  asleep,  and 
under  Matilda's  care,  and  ran  home  to  open  the  shop 
and  start  the  day  right.  I  got  me  a  mouthful  of 
breakfast,  and  was  tidying  up  the  shop,  when  in  walked 
two  men,  one  of  them  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"'  Mrs.  King?"  says  this  one,  civil  enough. 

"'Yes,  sir,'  I  says,  a-courtesying. 

" '  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  madam,'  he  went  on, 
'  but  we're  in  possession  here.  You  may  not  know  it, 
but  your  husband  has  been  borrowing  a  lot  of  money 
lately,  and  has  given  a  mortgage  upon  the  stock  and 
fixtures  here;  all  his  furniture  and  personal  property 
generally,  in  fact ;  and  hearing  that  other  parties  had 


Nurse  Brown  s  Story.  387 

claims  against  him  we  thought  it  best  to  be  forward 
with  ours.' 

" '  My  husband  went  to  Denville  in  the  six  o'clock 
train  Saturday  evening,'  I  said,  all  in  aflutter;  'but 
I'm  expecting  him  home  in  an  hour  or  so.  There 
must  be  some  mistake  about  this.' 

" '  'Tisn't  ourn,  then,'  says  the  other  man,  who  looked 
and  spoke  rough.  '  Your  husband  absconded  by  the 
ten  o'clock  through  Western  train  on  Saturday  night, 
and  took  your  sister  along  for  company.' 

"  If  I'd  been  asked  beforehand  how  I'd  take  such 
news  as  this,  I'd  have  said  I  should  have  dropped 
dead,  but  I  stood  perfectly  still,  and  says  I : — 

"  '  You're  in  possession  here,  you  say?' 

"  '  We  are,'  says  the  first  man. 

"  '  What  can  I  take  away  with  me  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  Your  clothes  and  your  children's,'  said  both  to- 
gether. '  Nothing  else.' 

"  I  put  them  up  in  a  big  bundle,  and  afterwards 
borrowed  a  trunk  from  mother  to  keep  them  in.  Eben 
had  turned  everything  else  into  money  and  taken  it 
with  him. 

"  Well  I  won't  weary  you  with  going  over  what  I 
felt  in  the  weary  months  that  followed.  It's  one  of 
the  things  people  —  leastways  women  —  can't  talk 
about.  It  was  fortunate  I  had  to  do  as  well  as  suffer. 
I  lived  with  mother  and  took  in  fine  sewing  for  seven 
years.  Just  before  she  died  my  eyes  gave  out — '  as 
might  have  been  expected,'  said  everybody,  for  I'd 
never  spared  them.  Five  years  longer  I  fought  with 
poverty,  doing  slop-work,  house-cleaning,  nursing — 
anything  that  I  could  lay  hold  of  that  would  bring  me 


388  Nurse  Brown's  Story. 

in  a  few  dollars.  Then  Andrew  Brown,  who  had 
courted  me  before  Eben  did,  and  been  a  firm  friend 
of  the  family  all  along,  asked  me  to  marry  him.  In 
the  twelve  years  Eben  had  been  away  I  had  heard 
from  him  but  once — or  of  him  rather,  for  he  never 
sent  me  a  line.  It  was  Lizzie  who  wrote  to  Mary 
Bryson  excusing  what  she  had  done,  and  throwing  the 
heft  of  the  blame  upon  me.  '  But  for  my  jealous, 
suspicious  temper,  and  prying  ways,'  she  said,  'we 
three  might  have  lived  in  peace  and  happiness  all  our 
days.  I  had  not  cared  to  keep  my  husband's  love 
when  I  had  it ;  thought  of  nothing  but  work  and 
making  money;  and  these  sordid  tastes  disgusted  him. 
When  I  had  lost  his  affection,  instead  of  manoeuvring 
to  get  it  back,  I  had  tried  to  hold  him  by  the  letter  of 
the  law,  played  the  spy  and  jailor  to  him  and  wearied 
him  out.  I  had  never  understood  him  in  the  begin- 
ning. Our  marriage  had  been  a  mistake  from  first  to 
last.' " 

"  Abominable  !  "  I  ejaculated. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  nurse,  in  her  quiet  tone. 
"  But  somehow  it  made  me  sorrier  for  her  than  if  she 
had  been  penitent,  for  I  knew  how  much  she  would 
have  to  suffer  before  she  was  brought  back  to  the 
right  way — she'd  strayed  off  so  far.  My  few  friends 
begged  me  hard  to  marry  Andrew.  My  children  were 
fond  of  him,  and  I  couldn't  educate  them  and  keep 
them  as  I'd  wish  to  out  of  my  poor  earnings.  If  I 
was  to  die  they'd  be  left  destitute,  and  what  with 
thinking  of  these  things,  and  not  caring  much  what 
happened  to  me  now,  and  knowing  how  good  and 
steady  and  true  Andrew  was,  I  let  him  take  out  a 


Nurse  Brown's  Story.  389 

regular  divorce  for  me,  and  then  we  were  married. 
We  got  along  nicely  together.  He  often  said  how 
happy  I  made  him,  and  that  was  a  great  comfort,  you 
know.  He  did  well  by  my  children;  never  made  any 
difference  between  them  and  the  little  girl  that  was 
born  to  us  the  second  year  after  our  marriage. 

"She  was  near  five  years  old  when  the  strangest 
thing  happened  to  me  that  I've  known  in  all  my  up- 
and-down  life.  I  was  sitting  at  the  parlor  window  with 
my  sewing  one  summer  afternoon,  when  a  man  who 
was  passing  along  the  sidewalk  stopped  and  stared 
hard  at  me,  then  came  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell. 
I  went  to  the  door. 

" '  Can  you  tell  me,  madam,'  says  he,  *  if  there's  a 
family  by  the  name  of  Dawson  lives  in  this  neighbor- 
hood?' 

"  '  Not  that  I  know  of,'  I  says. 

" '  I  have  been  misinformed  then.  I  am  a  stranger 
in  the  city — and — and — have  letters  to  them — and — I 
was  told — was  directed  to  this  street.' 

"He  talked  in  a  sort  of  hoarse,  choked-up  voice, 
hemming  and  hawing,  and  was  very  pale,  besides 
being  all  of  a  tremble.  I  thought  he  was  sick  or  in 
great  trouble,  and  says  I :  '  If  you  will  sit  down  here 
in  the  hall,  I  will  look  in  the  directory,'  for  Andrew 
always  had  one,  being  a  tax  collector  by  trade.  I  ran 
to  the  dining-room  and  searched  through  the  D's. 
There  were  Dawsons  enough  but  not  one  in  our 
neighborhood,  and"  I  took  a  glass  of  ice  water  to  him 
when  I  went  back  to  tell  him  this.  Just  as  he  was 
drinkingv  it  my  little  Mamie  came  trotting  into  the 
hall. 


390  Nurse  Brown  s  Story. 

" '  Mamma/  she  called,  '  hasn't  papa  come  home 
yet?' 

"  '  No,  darling,'  I  says. 

"  *  Mamma  !  '  repeated  the  man,  looking  as  if  he'd 
seen  a  ghost,  and  spilling  the  water  as  he  tried  to  set 
down  the  glass  on  the  table.  '  Is  this  your  child?' 

"  '  It  is,'  said  I,  and  I  was  so  scared  by  his  manner  I 
caught  up  the  little  thing.  I  really  fancied  he  would 
steal  her  or  hurt  her  some  way. 

"  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  and  walked  right  out 
of  the  door  like  one  in  a  dream  or  crazy ;  and  as  he 
did  it  I  saw  a  scar  on  his  wrist  I  recognized  in  a 
minute.  I  ran  to  the  door  and  stared  after  him.  His 
face  was  all  whiskers,  and  they  with  his  hair  were 
gray 'as  a  badger;  he  was  very  thin  and  stooped  a 
little,  but  I  knew  him  well  enough.  He  met  Jamie 
and  Ruthie  face  to  face  before  he'd  gone  ten  steps, 
turned  and  looked  wistfully  enough  after  them,  and 
seeing  them  turn  up  my  steps  must  have  known 
for  certain  who  they  were,  but  he  kept  on  down  the 
street.  I've  never  seen  nor  heard  of  him  since  nor  of 
her.  I  didn't  let  on  to  the  children  who  it  was,  but  I 
told  Andrew  all  about  it,  as  was  only  right. 

"I've  been  a  widow  eight  years.  Jamie  and  Ruthie 
are  settled  in  homes  of  their  own,  and  would  like  to 
have  me  with  them,  but  there's  Mamie.  Her  father 
lost  most  of  his  property  before  he  died  through 
another  man's  failure,  but  we  manage  to  get  along. 
Work  is  better  than  ease  for  me." 

She  got  up,  pulled  the  Afghan  about  my  shoulders, 
and  stirred  the  fire. 

"  It's  time  for  your  twilight  nap  now,  dear.     I'll  go 


Nurse  Brown  s  Story.  391 

down  and  see  about  your  supper.  It's  a  homely  and 
a  sorrowful  story  I've  been  telling,  but  it  won't  harm 
you  to  know  how  much  trouble  you've  escaped  thus 
far,  and  how  mercifully  the  Lord  sends  strength  with 
the  day  of  trial.  It's  a  true  tale,  too,  every  word  of 
it." 


A  NEW  BOOK  BY  MAKION  EAELAND. 

Loiterings  in  Pleasant  Palls. 

One  volume,  12mo,         -----         $1.73 


Books  of  travel  have  multiplied  of  late  years  almost  in  a  direct  ratio 
to  the  increased  facilities  for  journeying,  and  it  may  be  said  that  the 
quality  has  also  proportionately  improved.  We  have  works  profusely 
adorned  with  superb  illustrations,  and  others  without  pictorial  embellish- 
ments, relying  for  their  attractiveness  on  the  charm  of  a  skilled  pen  and 
the  freshness  of  first  impressions.  Such  a  book  is  LOITERINGS  IN 
PLEASANT  PATHS,  by  "Marion  Harland,"  whose  Common  Sense 
books  have  made  her  name  a  household  word  in  every  part  of  the  land. 


"These  'familiar  talks  from  afar'  are  no  fancy  sketches,  but  actual 
experiences  and  impressions  of  a  shrewd  observer,  whose  mind  was  enriched 
and  fully  prepared  to  observe  accurately  and  write  intelligently  and  pro- 
fitably. Marion  Harland  always  writes  books  with  a  purpose,  and  the 
present  volume  is  no  exception  to  her  rule." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"The  observations  of  so  clever  a  woman,  who  carries  her  head  with 
her  upon  her  travels  and  ventures  to  make  use  of  all  her  faculties,  are 
worth  writing  about  and  reading  about,  and  this  particular  traveller  has 
the  good  gift  of  so  writing  about  them  that  the  reading  is  a  constant  and 
unfailing  source  of  pleasure. " — Evangelist. 

"Those  who  are  going  abroad  will  find  this  volume  a  delightful  com- 
panion by  the  way ;  while  those  who  are  compelled  to  stay  at  home  will 
find  it  the  best  possible  substitute  for  the  pleasure  of  foreign  travel,  as 
proved  by  actual  experience." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 


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•'The  very  best,  the  most  sensible,  the  most  practical,  the  most  honest 
book  on  this  matter  of  getting  up  good  dinners,  and  living  in  a  decent, 
Christian  way,  that  has  yet  found  its  way  in  our  household." — WATCHMAN 
AND  REFLECTOR. 

COM  MON     SENSE 

IN    THE    HOUSEHOLD. 
A  MANUAL  OF  PRACTICAL  HOUSEWIFERY. 

By    MARION    HARL.AND. 


New  Edition.    One  volume,   12mo,  cloth,    .        .      Price,  91.75 
KITCHEN  EDITION,  IN  OIL-CLOTH  COVERS,  AT  SAME  PRICE. 


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a  nem  pattern  cloth  binding,  and  also  in  the  favorite  ' '  Kitchen 
Edition'1'1  style. 

The  popularity  of  this  book  has  increased  steadily  for  the  last  ten  years, 
and  the  sale  has  reached  the  extraordinary  number  of 
Over   100,000   Copies. 

Many  housekeepers  will  gladly  welcome  their  old  friend  in  a  new  dress, 
and  renew  their  copies  worn  by  constant  use ;  or,  as  the  author  herself 
expresses  it,  "  L  hope  my  fellow-workers  will  find  their  old  kitchen  com- 
panion in  fresh  dress,  yet  more  serviceable  than  before,  and  that  their 
daughters  mrfy,  at  the  close  of  a  second  decade,  demand  new  stereotype 
plates  for  still  another  and  like  this  a  progressive  edition." 

With  the  new  edition  of  "  Common  Sense/'  the  Publishers  will  issue, 
in  uniform  style : 

THE    DINNER    YEAR    BOOK. 

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"Two  as   Interesting    and  valuable   books    of  travel   as   have 
been  published  in  this  country."  NEW  YORK  EXPRESS. 

DR.  FIELD'S  TRAVELS  HOUND  THE  WORLD. 

FROM  THE  LAKES  OF*  KILLARNEY  TO  THE 

GOLDEN  HORN. 

FROM  EGYPT  TO  JAPAN. 

•y    HENRY    M.    FIELD,    D.D.,  Editor   of  the    N.  Y.    Evangelist, 
Each  1  vol.  12mo,     Cloth,  gilt  top,  uniform  In  sty'e,  $2. 

CRITICAL    NOTICES. 

By  George  Ripley,  LL.D.,  in  the  New  York  Tribune. 

Few  recent  travellers  combine  so  many  qualities  that  are  adapted  to  command  the 
Interest  and  sympathy  of  the  public.  While  he  indulges,  to  its  fullest  extent,  the  charac- 
teristic American  curiosity  with  regard  to  foreign  lands,  insisting  on  seeing  every  object 
of  interest  with  his  owu  eyes,  shrinking  from  no  peril  or  difficulty  in  pursuit  of  infor- 
mation— climbing  mountains,  descending  mines,  exploring  pyramids,  with  no  sense  of 
satiety  or  weariness,  he  has  also  made  a  faithful  study  of  the  highest  authorities  on 
the  different  subjects  of  his  narrative,  thus  giving  solidity  and  depth  to  his  descriptions, 
without  sacrificing  their  facility  or  grace. 

From  the  New  York  Observer. 

The  present  volume  comprises  by  far  the  most  novel,  romantic,  and  interesting  pan 
•f  the  Journey  [Round  the  World],  and  the  story  of  it  is  told  and  the  scenes  are  painted 
by  the  hand  of  a  master  of  the  pen.  Dr.  Field  is  a  veteran  traveller ;  he  knows  well 
what  to  see,  and  (which  is  still  more  important  to  the  reader)  he  knows  well  what  to 
describe  and  how  to  do  it. 

By  Chas.  Dudley  'Warner,  in  the  Hartford  Courant. 

It  is  thoroughly  entertaining ;  the  reader's  interest  is  never  allowed  to  flag  ;  the 
author  carries  us  forward  from  land  to  land  with  uncommon  vivacity,  enlivens  the  way 
with  a  good  humor,  a  careful  observation,  and  treats  all  peoples  with  a  refreshing  liberality. 

From  Rev.  Dr.  R.  S.  Storrs. 

It  is  indeed  a  charming  book — full  of  fresh  information,  picturesque  description,  and 
thoughtful  studies  of  men,  countries,  and  civilizations. 

From  Prof.  Roswell  D.  Hitchcock,  D.D. 

In  this  second  volume,  Dr.  Field,  I  think,  has  surpassed  himself  in  the  first,  and 
this  is  saying  a  good  deaL  In  both  volumes  the  editorial  instinct  and  habit  are  conspic- 
uous. Dr.  Prime  has  said  that  an  editor  should  have  six  senses,  the  sixth  bring 
•*  a  sense  of  the  interesting."  Dr.  Field  has  this  to  perfection.  *  *  * 

From  the  New  York  Herald. 

It  would  be  impossible  by  extracts  to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of  the  varietyf 
abundance,  or  picturesque  freshness  of  these  sketches  of  travel,  without  copying  a  great 
part  of  the  book. 

Rev.  Wm.  M.  Taylor,  D.D.,  in  the  Christian  at  Work. 

Dr.  Field  has  an  eye,  if  we  may  use  a  photographic  illustration,  with  a  great  deal  oi 
collodion  in  it,  so  that  he  sees  very  clearly.  He  knows  also  how  to  describe  just  those 
things  in  the  different  places  visited  by  him  which  an  intelligent  man  wants  to  know 


•»•  The  above  books  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  ivill  it  tent,  post  or  express 
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743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YOBK. 


.  The    Oharm    of    theme    nearly    perfect    itorUc    !!••    In    th*ll 
iul.lt.  •Impllotty  and  mo«t  tender  humor."— PHILADELPHIA  Tun» 


RUDDER    GRANGE. 

By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


Volume,  16mo,  Extra  Cloth,  91.2S.      Paper,   6O  cents. 


"  Humor  like  this  is  perennial."—  Washington  Post. 

"Mr.  Stockton  has  rare  gifts  for  this  style  of  writing,  and  hai 
developed  in  these  papers  remarkable  genius." — Pittsburgh  Gatette. 

"  A  cei  tain  humorous  seriousness  over  matters  that  are  not  scrioui 
surrounds  the  story,  even  in  its  most  indifferent  parts,  with  an  atmosphere, 
an  aroma  of  very  quaint  and  delightful  humor." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  Mr.  Stockton's  vein  of  humor  is  a  fresh  and  rich  one,  that  afford* 
pleasure  to  mature  people  as  well  as  to  youne  ones.  Thus  far,  '  Rudder 
Grange '  is  his  best  effort." — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  Rudder  Grange  is  an  ideal  book  to  take  into  the  country  foi 
summer  reading." — Portland  Press. 

"  Rudder  Grange  is  really  a  very  delightful  piece  of  fooling,  but,  like 
all  fooling  that  is  worth  the  while,  it  has  point  and  purpose."— Phil. 
Telegraph. 

"The  odd  conceit  of  making  his  young  couple  try  their  hands  at 
house-keeping  first  in  an  old  canal  boat,  suggests  many  droll  situations, 
which  the  author  improves  with  a  frolicsome  humor  that  is  all  his  own," 
—  Worcester  Spy. 

"  There  is  in  these  chapters  a  rare  and  captivating  drollery.  .  .  . 
We  have  had  more  pleasure  in  reading  them  over  again  than  we  had  whe* 
they  first  appeared  in  the  magazine." — Congregationalism 


Tkt  mtfvt  fcwt  fer  ,.ilt  by  all  i^AteOert,  or  *>M  In  tent,  frtp+U,   •*». 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  N«w  YORK. 


NOW   READY.-THE    THIRD   EDITION. 


THE  SECOND  SERIES. 

SAXE   HOLM'S   STORIES. 

INCLUDING 

«« The  Four-Leaved  Clover,"        "  My  Tourmaline," 

'•Farmer  Bassett's  Romance,"     "Joe  Hales'  Red  Stockings,' 

"  Susan  Lawton's  Escape." 


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1TOTICES. 

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made  the  name  of  the  author  a  subject  of  discussion  with  literary  gossips,  and  won  the 
admiration  of  intelligent  readers  for  such  attractive  specimens  of  pure  and  wholesome 
fiction."— New  York  Tribune. 

"The  second  series  is  an  elegant  volume,  and  contains  some  of  the  best  of  the  stories, 
notably  the  exquisite,  '  A  Four- Leaved  Clover,'  which  is  sufficient  of  itself  to  make  the 
reputation  of  any  story-writer.  *  *  *  The  four  other  stories  are  all  good,  and  all 
marked  by  that  peculiar  realism  and  tenderness  combined,  which  give  these  stories  a 
distinct  place  in  American  fiction." — Hartford  Courant. 

"The  simplicity  which  marks  Saxe  Holm's  use  of  dialect  is  something  which  is  difficult 
to  describe.  It  pleases  us  in  the  reading,  but  escapes  our  critical  grasp  like  a  sunbeam. 
This  is  particularly  observable  in  the  first  of  these  tales  which  comprise  the  second  series 
of  her  stories."— New  York  Mail. 

"  Whoever  is  the  author,  she  is  certainly  entitled  to  the  high  credit  of  writing  storie* 
which  charm  by  their  sweetness,  impress  by  their  power,  and  hold  attention  by  their 
originality." — Albany  Argus. 


SAXE     HOLM'S     STORIES, 

FIRST  SERIES. 

"  Draxy  Miller's  Dowry,"         "  The  Elder's  Wife," 

•«  Whose  Wife  Was  She  ?  "  "  The  One-Legged  Dancers,* 

•'How  One  Woman  Kept  Her  Husband," 

"  Esther  Wynn's  Love  Letters." 


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THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WRITINGS 

OF 

DR.  J.  G.  HOLLAND, 

EDITOR  OF  SCRIBNER'S  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 

With  Illustrations  by  Reinhart,   Gr  is  wold,   and  Mary 
Hallo ck  Foote,  and  Portrait  by  Wyatt  Eaton. 

TOTED  FROM  NEW  STEREOTYPED  FLUTES,  PREPARED  EXPRESSLY  FOR  THIS  EDITION 
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CRITICAL     NOTICES. 

"  DR.  HOLLAND  will  always  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the  homes  of  culture  and 
refinement.  He  does  not  affect  the  play  of  the  darker  and  fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in 
the  sweet  images  that  cluster  around  the  domestic  hearth.  He  cherishes  a  strong  fellow- 
feeling  with  the  pure  and  tranquil  life  in  the  modest  social  circles  of  the  American  people, 
and  has  thus  won  his  way  to  the  companionship  of  many  friendly  hearts  " — JV.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  It  is  the  rare  truthfulness  of  his  pictures  of  still  life,  the  poetry  with  which  he  has  the 
art  of  investing  homely  things  and  every-day  experiences,  and  the  strong  moral  motive 
with  which  his  writings  are  charged  which  especially  commend  them  to  the  great  army  o! 
his  readers."— Springfield  Daily  Union.  • 

"  DR.  HOLLAND'S  pen  moves  so  easily  and  gracefully  that  we  do  not  always  appre- 
ciate fully  the  real  poetic  merit,  the  subtle  meaning,  the  delicate  imagery  and  all  the 
mingled  truth  and  beauty  that  link  in  his  smooth-flowing  lines." — ff.  Y.  Evangelist. 


DR.    HOLLAND'S     WORKS. 


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EDWARD   EGGLESTON'S   NEW  STORY. 


R  O  X  Y. 

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"  In  '  Roxy  •  Dr.  Eggleston  takes  rank  as  an  artist.  Hia 
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a  permanent  place  in  our  literature. 

"  The  characters  in  «  Roxy '  are  admirably  conceived  and 
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life  will  fail  to  recognize  them.  The  whole  story  is  pervaded 
with  a  flavor  of  the  soil  which  stamps  it  as  a  genuinely 
American  product." 


.A.     IsTEW     EDITIOUST     OIF 

THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

By  EDWABD  EOKJLESTON,  author  of  "Boxy." 
One  vol.  izmo,  illustrated.     $1.50. 

This  story  excited  widespread  interest  when  first  published, 
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"  The  breezy  freshness  of  the  Western  prairie  blended  with  the  refine- 
ments of  literary  culture." — N.   Y.  Tribune. 

"  It  is  his  best  work  ;  a  grand  story ;  a  true  picture  of  the  past  and  of 
itinerant  life  in  the  old  times  of  simplicity  and  hardship." 

—A".   Y.  Methodist. 

"  The  best  American  story,  and  the  most  thoroughly  American  one, 
that  has  appeared  for  years."— Phila.  Evening  Bulletin. 

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*  HAWORTH'S  * 

BY 

FRANCES    HODGSON    BURNETT, 

Author  of  "THAT  LASS  O'LOWHIE'S." 


One  Vol.  12mo,  Illustrated. Price,  $1.50. 

The  publication  of  a  new  novel  from  Mrs.  Burnett's  pen  has  become  an 
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and  HAWORTH'S  fulfills  the  best  anticipations  of  both.  It  is  in  the 
direct  line  of  development  of  the  author's  strongest  traits,  and  marks  a 
higher  point  than  was  reached  even  in  the  best  passages  of  her  first  story. 


CRITICAL    NOTICES. 

"  ffaworlVs  is  a  product  of  genius  of  a  very  high  order — a  piece  of 
work  which  will  hold  a  permanent  place  in  literature ;  one  of  those  mas- 
terly performances  that  rise  wholly  above  the  plane  of  light  literature  upon 
•which  novels  are  generally  placed." — Evening  Post. 

11  It  is  but  faint  praise  to  speak  of  Hawortli's  as  merely  a  good  novel. 
It  is  one  of  the  few  great  novels.  .  .  .  As  a  story,  it  is  alive  through- 
out with  a  thrilling  interest  which  does  not  flag  from  beginning  to  end, 
and,  besides  the  story,  there  is  in  it  a  wonderfully  clever  study  of  human 
nature." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  Hawortffs  will  unquestionably  be  acknowledged  one  of  the  great 
literary  achievements  of  the  day.  The  chief  feature  is  its  intense  dramatic 
power.  It  consists  almost  wholly  of  vividly-presented  pictures,  which  so 
impress  themselves  on  the  mind  of  the  reader,  that  the  effect  is  more  that 
of  seeing  the  story  acted  than  of  reading  it." — Boston  Post. 

"Conversation  and  incident  move  naturally  and  with  perfect  freedom, 
yet  there  is  not  a  page  which  does  not  essentially  aid  in  the  development 
of  plot.  .  .  .  The  handsome  illustrations  are  in  tone  and  keeping 
with  the  spirit  of  the  book." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"  The  book  is  original,  powerful,  helpful,  dramatic,  vivid  and  great. 
Every  character  is  cut  with  the  distinctness  of  a  cameo,  and  every  one  is 
unique.  .  .  .  The  art  of  the  volume  is  perfect.  Every  word  is  needed 
to  effect  the  result.  The  pictures  fit  into  one  another.  The  whole  is  a 
faultless  mosaic." — Albany  Argus. 


',*  For  tab  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  }rej>aid,  upon  receipt  off  rice,  by 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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3  1158  01135  6119 


A     000032783 


